


Last Toast

by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Tony, Bisexual Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Canon-Typical Violence, Cold War, Espionage, Falling In Love, Feels, KGB, Loneliness, M/M, Paranoia, Past Torture, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Soviet Union, Surveillance, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Trust Issues, Winteriron Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 22:37:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 68,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4722950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaqen_hgar/pseuds/Finely%20Honed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Cold War AU) To Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark used to be just a handsome face, a name associated with sex scandals, shiny new toys, and weapons manufacturing, until Stark’s controversial press conference puts him at the top of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s watch list, and at the center of Bucky’s world. What starts as an assignment soon tips over into obsession, and all too soon Bucky finds himself risking everything to help the one person he’s felt a connection to since being a prisoner of the KGB. The only problem is, Tony Stark doesn’t even know he exists yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [2015 Winteriron Bang](http://winterironbang.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I was lucky enough to be paired with two amazingly talented artists: [InnerCinema](http://archiveofourown.org/users/innercinema) (aka [Auripigmentum](http://auripigmentum.tumblr.com/)) and [Popcornzoe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Popcornzoe/works) (aka [chrisdoritoevans](http://chrisdoritoevans.tumblr.com/))! You should go show them some love. Thank you, ladies, for spoiling me rotten.

[](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4727339)  
Cover art by [chrisdoritoevans](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4727339)

The name Tony Stark used to mean very little to him. The end result of Stark’s particular brand of fatuous showmanship was that he wound up in the news or gossip rags often enough that Bucky, like most of America, tended to forget that Tony Stark was anything other than an empty _personality_. He was just a name, a character, a handsome face that people associated with sex scandals, shiny new toys, and weapons manufacturing.

All that was before, though.

James Buchanan Barnes—Bucky to his friends—adjusted his collar, shivering as stray snowflakes snuck inside the confines of his coat, made contact with his skin. They melted almost immediately, sliding uncomfortably down between his shoulder blades. His body ached from a long day spent out in the cold, fingers stiff, mind at the wandering point. The exhaustion was inevitable, and he’d learned the hard way that it was also when an operative needed to pay the most attention.

Bucky scanned his surroundings for what felt like the thousandth time, uneasy although he wouldn't have been able to say why. Maybe it was only that he'd spent the better part of the evening installing the equipment, and now it was finally time for the moment of truth. The understanding that he might have to go back out, do it all over again was preemptively exhausting.

Once he was satisfied that he wasn't being watched, Bucky sniffed, shivered again, and then slid in through the skylight, sighing contentedly as he landed inside the heated loft. Wasting no time, he tugged off his gloves using his teeth, then headed over to the bank of receivers.

"Here goes nothing," he muttered.

Bucky pulled on a pair of headphones before flipping the first switch. Static burst through the line, causing him to wince and lunge for the controls. After some fine tuning, the static resolved into a lightly crackled audio feed of a Stark Industries security guard whistling as they made the evening rounds.

"Bingo."

At least the evening hadn't been a waste of time. Bucky sighed, checked and made any necessary adjustments to the equipment, flipping on the various recording devices as each connection was successfully established. Last of all was Stark's office, which should have been empty at that hour. Someone was in there, though. Bucky adjusted the volume, closing his eyes as he held the headphones tight to his ears.

There was a scraping sound as a chair was pulled back, followed by a soft exhalation as someone sat down hard. Ice cubes knocking against the sides of a glass, a sniff. Bucky frowned, and hopped to his feet, snatching his binoculars off of the table. In his haste to get to the window, he snagged the cord and had to backtrack in order to untangle himself.

Bucky's mouth quirked to the side at the sound of someone sighing; he could sympathize. It just about summed up how he was feeling at the moment. The sigh was followed by what sounded like a phone being dialed, and then someone spoke.

"Hey, Rhodey."

Bucky peered through his binoculars, breathing slow and even as he focused on the figure across the way. Tony Stark was visible through the floor to ceiling windows of his office, a drink in one hand, phone cradled between shoulder and ear. Bucky had been ordered to avoid tampering with the phone lines—SI checked them often enough that the tap would be detected almost immediately—so unfortunately the only thing they were getting on tape was one side of the conversation. Based on what he could hear, it wasn’t going well.

"Really? Wow. Was kind of hoping you were over it."

The voice was lighthearted, but the view through Bucky's binoculars told a different story entirely. Stark had his eyes closed, his free hand pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah, well... Rhodey, come on. You sound like Obie. Listen, no, _listen_ , I'm working on something, something big, and..."

Tony's eyes opened again, the hand moved away from his face, and he sat up in his seat, mouth tight as he dangled the handset for a moment before setting it back on the base. A reflexive bit of sympathy prompted Bucky to frown; this “Rhodey” had obviously hung up on Stark. As Bucky watched, his target stared out the window giving the illusion he was looking directly at him.

"Hello, Mr. Stark," Bucky whispered. "Pleasure to meet you."

As if his greeting had been heard, Stark rose to his feet and walked to the window, leaning forward with one hand braced against the glass. Bucky watched him as he stared out into the night, the ice cubes rattling around his glass again as he swirled the amber liquid. This wasn't the man Bucky had seen in the papers, or on the TV. This man seemed lost, unsure. Heartbroken.

Figuring out the reason why was simple enough. Stark had been kidnapped, held for ransom, had only just returned to the United States, bringing with him the shocking news that Stark Industries was backing out of weapons manufacturing. It was the very reason why Bucky was standing in a loft watching the billionaire through a pair of binoculars, the justification for paying a visit to SI’s New York headquarters in order to rig the surveillance equipment.

The reason why he was there didn’t matter so much to Bucky, or so he told himself as he gazed across the cold, quiet New York night, watching Tony Stark swipe absently at his face once he finally noticed the tears on his cheeks. All that mattered was the reality of the thing.

“To having everything and nothing,” Stark said to the empty room, raising his glass as if in a toast before emptying it.

“To everything and nothing,” Bucky answered.

Stark set the empty glass aside, gave one last look through the windows, then turned off the lights and closed the door to his office with enough force to spike the levels on Bucky’s equipment. With a frown, he pulled the headphones off, let the binoculars rest against his chest, and ran a hand over his face.

The headache was back, as was the unsettled sensation in his chest. The feeling of something undone, or undoable, something sitting at the edge of his ability to remember. Guilt, perhaps. While he might follow orders unquestioningly, what transpired within his own mind was his and his alone; he’d never say it aloud, but Bucky disagreed with his current assignment.

Stark was a civilian. If he’d changed his mind about the direction of his company, then wasn’t he within his rights as a citizen of the United States to do so, as long as he wasn’t breaking any laws? Bucky wasn’t an expert, but he still had his opinions, and as far as he was concerned, the government and S.H.I.E.L.D. had no right to pressure Stark to continue to manufacture weapons. Especially if there was the chance that Stark was right, and they were simply being funneled into enemy hands.

None of that was meant to be his concern, though. He was a cog in a machine, and a worn down cog at that; his teeth no longer reliably meshed and moved with the rest of the gears.

With a sigh, Bucky checked and rechecked the equipment, made the necessary notations, then tapped out a signal to Hawkeye, giving the all clear before finally shrugging himself out of his coat. The loft might have been bare, but at least it was warm enough to chase the chill from his bones.

Bucky unscrewed the top of his flask, threw himself down on his cot, and stared up and out at the night through the skylight above. He’d checked the loft for bugs and then checked again, but when he opened his mouth and spoke, there was still the feeling that always presented itself when risks were taken.

“Я пью за разоренный дом, За злую жизнь мою, За одиночество вдвоем,” he toasted the empty room. Despite himself, when he closed his eyes and let the vodka roll over his tongue it was Tony Stark he saw, standing at the window, wiping aside unwelcome tears. “И за тебя я пью.”[1]

The Russian was as much of a comfort to his ears, and heart, and the very musculature of his mouth as was the vodka to his nerves. His proficiency with the language had once been considered an asset, but these days he did his best to play up the Brooklyn in his accent whenever he had the opportunity to speak to someone. Since coming back home he’d figured out pretty quickly that anything that made you special also made you suspicious.

Bucky found himself wondering if Tony Stark had learned that lesson yet.

He raised the flask. “To having everything and nothing.”

[](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4721240)  
"To everything and nothing..." by [InnerCinema](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4721240)

If he'd been any sort of real agent, he'd have followed Stark, kept a safe distance without ever letting the target out of his sight. They hadn't said as much, but he was willing to bet there were other eyes out there doing that very thing. What concerned him more was the idea that they weren’t watching Stark at all, but were instead watching _him_. It was this fear that prompted him to soap up the glass of the skylight, and pull the curtains tight.

Still, sleep did not come, and so Bucky fished into his boot, and pulled out a photo of Steve Rogers he’d stolen before leaving Washington D.C. It was of the two of them at Coney Island, taken back before his world had been turned upside down. On that day, Bucky had been sporting a carefree smile, the arm he no longer had slung around Steve’s shoulders. Somehow, it seemed fitting.

With a frown, he let the photo fall to the floor, suddenly finding the soaped up glass of the skylight more appealing.

In many ways, being back in the United States was a much harder existence than his captivity had been. Mission or no, the loneliness was something he’d brought back from Russia with him. The sense of alienation was tattooed upon his heart, had soured everything since coming home.

Bucky was fully aware of how Steve struggled with the changes he saw in his best friend. He’d done his best to help, really, had gone above and beyond. Despite his exemplary service record, Bucky knew full well that Steve Rogers was the only reason S.H.I.E.L.D. had taken a chance on him. He wasn’t stupid enough to pretend that the current mission was anything other than a test, would in fact determine whether or not he was ultimately retired as an agent.

On the bright side, as far as details went, there had been plenty worse over the years, especially back when he’d been regular Army. No one had asked him to dig a trench, or march all day only to turn around and march right back the way he’d come. He hadn’t had to kill anyone. No one had shot at him yet, or tried to blow him up. Once upon a time, that description would have fit any given day, but then again, he hadn’t been a Howling Commando in years.

Strange, to find himself unsure of whether that was good or bad. Once, it had meant everything. Steve Rogers had meant everything, and Bucky Barnes had meant everything to Steve Rogers. Being declared dead had a way of changing things, as he’d found out the hard way. So did captivity, and torture.

Bucky struggled on a daily basis to remind himself of the sheer gratitude, relief, and overwhelming joy that had been on Steve’s face the first time they laid eyes on each other again. It was painfully obvious that his friend loved him, had missed him more than could be expressed with words. It was only that everyone had thought he was dead, and so they’d slowly begun to move on.

Their lives had fallen out of sync.

The movies and TV never showed you the bit where—after getting miraculously rescued—you finally get to go home to yet _another_ prison. He’d spent months being questioned, and observed, poked, and prodded. They’d demanded to know why the Commies had bothered giving him a state of the art replacement for his arm, what secrets he’d traded for it, what promises he’d made.

Eventually, they got sick of him passing lie detector tests, and simply staring at them unflinchingly during the questioning. They’d taken his arm, given him a replacement that might as well have been a broomstick with a hook on the end by comparison, and kicked him out on his ass. Hell, Bucky was pretty sure that as far as the federal government was concerned, he was still legally dead.

Once their own people had decided it was safe to release him, Steve had tried his best to fold Bucky back into a normal life. Catching up on pop culture and politics was the easy part. The problem was when you’d lost most of an arm and spent a couple years in a top secret Siberian prison people tended to get real uncomfortable around you, especially when you woke them by screaming in Russian in the middle of the night.

Steve stubbornly refused to accept it as a problem though. Peggy had tried her very best with Bucky, but it was obvious to him that she was spending less and less time with her fiancé because of him.

Peggy was one of the bravest people he knew, but she’d also made the mistake of catching him unawares one morning when Steve was out for his run. Bucky could still remember the sound of air being knocked from her lungs, and how wide and terrified her pretty eyes had been. The reaction came natural, his body responding instinctively to the threat. One moment her fingers brushed his shoulder, the next he was off the couch, awake, had her pinned to the floor beneath a knee, knife in his hand. His mind only just caught up with the reality of the situation in time to stop the descent of the blade. The tip had trembled above her left cornea for some time, while she whispered his name over and over again.

Realizing what he’d almost done, Bucky had thrown up in the trashcan, while Peggy curled up and cried, and neither of them had said a single fucking word about it to Steve. It was impossible not to feel guilty about that, to want to fix it. The best way he could apologize to Peggy was to get the hell away from their life, just let them be happy.

Peggy wasn’t all of it. He could read between the lines and knew full well that no one at the FBI was happy with their arrangement, either. Steve might not be bringing classified materials home or trying to get his old war buddy face time with President Reagan, but Bucky was on watchlists, and he’d never forgive himself if Steve’s help wound up costing him his future at the Bureau.

Ultimately, he was the one to suggest it was time he moved on with his life. Steve had halfheartedly tried to talk him out of it, but they’d both known it was for the best. At least Steve and Peggy had used their connections, so that leaving meant he’d actually have somewhere to go. All too soon he was saying ‘goodbye’ to Steve’s couch in Washington D.C. and ‘hello’ to New York City.

Even with the distance, Steve was in Bucky’s thoughts. When he’d been in captivity, he’d mentally written a letter to Steve each and every day. At least in America he had access to paper and pencil, could kill an hour each morning scratching away, finding it much easier to put his thoughts and feelings into order when writing.

Snatches of shared childhood memories. Complaints about his food, lodging, the boredom, and the weather. Confessions. Observations. Most were in English, but sometimes the pages were covered in cramped cyrillic; those were the ones Steve would have been most interested in reading.

Because there were still days when Bucky forgot he was in America, was in fact, American. And there were times when he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, confused by the man staring back. There were nights when he tortured himself with the knowledge that he’d been keeping secrets for as far back as he could remember.

The desire to confess this to Steve usually had him pacing in tight circles, arguing with himself. Telling Steve that once upon a time there had been _more_ to his love for him would do nothing but hurt the man. Steve wasn’t in a position to reciprocate, and more importantly, Bucky was beginning to recognize that those feelings belonged to someone else entirely. The Bucky Barnes that had dreamt of one day working up the courage to kiss Steve Rogers wasn’t the same man lying in a narrow cot in New York, staring at soap on a window while pretending Siberia was on the other side of the glass.

Confessing through the letters still felt liberating. Or, rather, burning each letter to Steve after he’d finished writing it brought about a sense of catharsis.

Of course, if he’d held onto them and read back, he might have been in a position to notice when his professional interest in Tony Stark tipped over into infatuation.

* * *

  1. Excerpt from [_Last Toast_](https://sites.google.com/site/poetryandtranslations/anna-akhmatova/last-toast), Anna Akhmatova (1934) "I’m drinking to a ruined home, And to my life in hell, To us together, yet alone, And to you too, as well, -"  ↑




	2. Chapter 2

Bugging the mansion was more difficult than taking care of SI headquarters had been. There were guards, traps and alarms, and once he’d managed to get everything set up and did his equipment test, Bucky headed back to the loft as he’d been ordered.

This was where S.H.I.E.L.D.’s long distance receivers came in handy. Sure, Bucky had scopes and could have set up a second shop as close as possible in an attempt to watch, but there was little occasion to actually _see_ into the mansion. The curtains were typically drawn, and Stark didn't spend a lot of time staring moodily out of windows when he was at home. That seemed reserved for the office.

S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn’t risk their clumsy video surveillance devices being detected, so it was ears only for both locations. Even that was hit or miss. When he was at home, Stark seemed to spend most of his time somewhere underground, somewhere the exterior mics couldn’t possibly pick him up, but whatever there _was_ to capture would be recorded, reviewed elsewhere by S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives.

By the very nature of his assignment, the loft became Bucky’s world, and routine was his only companion.

There was the daily exterior sweep to make certain they didn't have ears on their own op, as well as Bucky’s separate sweeps to determine whether the loft had been entered and bugged while he was out making his daily visit to one of the designated dead drops. Making the drops took time; he purposefully travelled by circuitous routes in case anyone was watching, often in disguise.

Once a week he picked up any necessary supplies, again alternating locations and disguises, and letting his paranoia get the best of him upon his return. Of course, the people he worked for would have been careful enough to notice and circumvent the precautions he put in place anyway. There was no way to be entirely certain he was unobserved, so he hoped at the very least that S.H.I.E.L.D. found his behavior amusingly cautious and appropriate.

While he exercised, showered, shaved, ate, and even masturbated at regularly scheduled intervals, try as he might, Bucky’s sleep was exempt from routine. He hoped to use the assignment as a way to regulate his circadian rhythm, but to no avail. Because of this, even with the time eaten up by making the drops and caving to paranoia, he was left with far too many empty hours to fill each and every day.

There were only so many games of solitaire a man could play. Watching the reels of the tape recorders spin round and round while eating sardines from a tin was almost maddening. He burned through cigarette after cigarette. Sometimes Bucky didn’t even smoke them, just let them burn down as he held one aloft, watched the ash accumulate.

His vodka was long gone, and he purposefully hadn’t resupplied. The alcohol only seemed to make the intermittent headaches worse, and more importantly there was always the chance that something might actually happen. That he might need his wits about him one of these days.

Instead of booze, he treated himself to a newspaper or a magazine whenever he was out and spotted a mention of Tony Stark. The photos didn’t do him justice, but neither did the view from his binoculars. Twice now he’d timed his departure so that he would be on the street at a time he knew Stark would be coming or going from the building.

Up close, he was shorter than he appeared on TV or in the papers, but just as handsome. More so, actually. The smile never made it to his eyes, but it was still a showstopper. That Tony was immaculate, nothing at all like the person Bucky saw through his binoculars late at night. Alone in his office, Tony shed some of his persona, and showed Bucky the man beneath the mask. That was the version he liked best. That was _his_ Tony.

He wasn’t meant to listen to the tapes, only to replace each as it ran out. He’d been instructed to simply scan through them, checking at regular intervals to make certain the audio was intact before packaging them up for the drop. Really, the order was a practical one. Several floors of Stark Industries had been bugged using the new exterior mounted system S.H.I.E.L.D. had developed. Between that and the mansion there was too much material for one person to cover listening in real time anyway.

Of course, that didn’t keep Bucky from breaking the rules. It wasn’t just the boredom, either. He blamed their first evening together, the broken remains of his heart feeling a momentary connection with another living soul, never mind the falseness of it all. The problem was, he saw too much of himself in Stark. More damning still, he saw shades of a young Steve Rogers always punching above his weight. The attachment was inevitable.

All too soon he found himself beginning to scan through the tapes specifically looking for instances of Stark. By the end of the first week, he knew which decks he should focus on, and the best times to actually hear anything from Tony at all.

When he went to SI, Tony avoided Research and Development like the plague, so Bucky didn’t waste his time scanning through those tapes. More often than not, Tony was in the building at odd hours if he’d come on his own. The daytime visits were typically because Virginia Potts—aka Pepper—had made it clear his presence was needed to soothe the dissatisfied board of managers, or because Stane had commented upon his absence.

He’d listened to some rather spectacularly boring SI meetings just for the chance to hear Stark speak. Lacking the necessary context, a great deal of what was discussed was beyond him, but that didn’t detract from his enjoyment. Tony was quick with a joke, had actually made him laugh on multiple occasions, something Steve hadn’t even managed since Bucky’s homecoming. Tony’s voice, the way he spoke, all of that was fascinating, compelling, especially when one compared it all with _his_ Tony. Bucky often wondered if anyone else saw through the projected persona, or if he was special in that regard.

Despite being out there in the real world, with real people, it seemed to him that Tony was as isolated as he was. Maybe had been his entire life.

When it came to the regular cast of characters in the life of Tony Stark, Pepper was Bucky’s favorite. Aside from Tony’s butler Jarvis, she seemed like the only person trying to take care of him. She encouraged him to get sleep, or to eat, or to open up and talk. It didn't work, but at least she was trying. Bucky knew from his observations that Pepper was actually responsible for ninety percent of Tony's half of the day to day of the company, although she tried to keep that under wraps.

This was because Obadiah Stane was a bastard any way you sliced it. Bucky had him at the opposite end of the spectrum from Pepper. Stane, like most, wasn't a happy camper over Tony's decision to change the direction of the company. He was actively looking for ways to overturn the decision, and Bucky harbored a profound desire to punch him in the mouth.

Of course, Tony's other friend—James “Rhodey” Rhodes—was in the same camp as Stane. Bucky had heard enough of their one-sided conversations to figure out that the two weren't talking as much as they once had. Rhodey might not be ready to accept Tony’s decision, but Bucky got it. Sometimes life opened your eyes for you, whether you wanted it or not, and that was that. No going back. You were changed, for better or worse.

Bucky didn’t know the specifics of what had happened to Tony Stark when he’d been held against his will, but it hadn’t been anything good. It was the source of motivation for the special project he was working on—likely the same one he’d tried to tell Rhodey about—that kept him somewhere in the dead zone beneath the mansion more often than not. Obviously, he had some sort of workshop down there, and some small part of Bucky was terrified by the idea that he might be building something nefarious.

For reasons he was uncomfortable examining, the idea of Tony Stark being taken out of his home or office by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents was the stuff of nightmares. Bucky wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand by and watch something like that transpire. Maybe because they executed you for treason. Maybe because it was too easy to think of himself being in the same position. Whatever the media claimed about his loyalties, the idea that Tony would purposefully do something to undermine the safety of U.S. citizens seemed laughable. Based upon his observations,, Tony Stark was a man trying to take responsibility for his actions. A man seeking redemption, not revenge.

Tony’s sleep was even more erratic than Bucky’s own. Once or twice a week, everything caught up to him, and he actually made the sad and lonely trek through the empty mansion, sought out his bedroom, and passed out from exhaustion. Those were the times when Bucky climbed into his own narrow cot with the headphones on, the volume cranked up so that he could hear the soft susurration of Tony’s breathing as he tried to find his own way into sleep.

More than once it also meant he was woken by Tony’s screams, or his incoherent pleading when the nightmares came. The first time it had happened, Bucky had blinked into wakefulness to find himself standing at the side of his cot, heart hammering fitfully against his ribs, gun in hand and the cord of the headphones twisted around his neck.

Strange, to wake ready to fight another’s demons for them.

_“_ Stop,” Tony cried in his sleep and, “please,” and, “I’ll do it, don’t hurt him!”

Bad memories. Something else they had in common. Bucky felt especially close to Tony in those moments, spoke soothing words to the empty room as if Tony could hear him. It was always blood and snow waiting for him, but he suspected Tony saw the sun shining relentlessly upon sand behind his closed eyes.

He didn’t feel even a little guilty scrubbing the recorded nightmares from the tapes before turning them over. After all, Bucky would have wanted a friend to do the same for him.


	3. Chapter 3

It was coming up on the time he normally left to make his drop, and he should have already had the materials packaged and ready to go, but Bucky was standing at his window, headphones on, binoculars in hand, watching Tony Stark. Despite everything, he didn’t always get the chance to put eyes on him. No way was he missing a chance to watch and listen in real time.

“I’m betting you never had a single doubt,” Tony said to a framed photo on his desk.

Bucky guessed it was Howard Stark, but answered as if Tony was speaking to him instead. He’d been doing that a lot.

“You’d be wrong. I doubt every day.”

Tony spun in his chair, staring at the ceiling. “I’m running out of time.”

Even through the binoculars, Tony didn’t look well. Bucky tried not to let it bother him, failed.

“Tell me what you’re doing, Tony.” Bucky’s raspy voice sounded loud in the empty loft. “Maybe I can help.”

Pretending like they were having a conversation was a bad habit and he knew it, but knowing and stopping were two very different things. Prior to this assignment, his particular brand of surveillance had always been done through the scope of a sniper rifle, and if the relationship didn’t end with a bang and a corresponding burst of blood, then it ended with a whole lot of them as soon as he reported back to his team and they carried out their mission.

He was a lonely, broken man with no one in the world to call his own and a history of looking out for underdogs. The way he was wired meant he shouldn’t be left alone watching over someone like Tony for long periods of time. S.H.I.E.L.D. had done their psych profiles, must have known it, and so Bucky figured if anyone was to blame it was them for putting him there in the first place.

Tony sighed. “Must have been nice, not having doubts.”

“Having doubts is healthy, Tony. It’s the people who _don’t_ that you gotta watch out for.”

Bucky stared until his eyes prickled with the strain of not blinking. With a sigh of his own, he pulled the headphones from his ears and headed over to his equipment. He’d put it off long enough, needed to change the tapes, did that before grabbing his handheld, popping one in to begin the review.

“Sorry, Tony. We’ll catch up a little later.”

The hiss of tape rewinding. Hit play. Sounded like a meeting, and he knew Tony had been at the mansion all day, so there was no reason to linger. Fast forward for the count of thirty, hit play. Definitely a meeting, sounded like R&D. Hit fast forward for the count of fifty, hit play. On and on, so that Bucky hardly heard the words being spoken as he confirmed the recordings from the day before were intact before setting the cassettes aside in turn.

He’d been at the review for almost an hour when he heard, “ _...you were supposed to, we wouldn’t have this problem!_ ”

Obadiah Stane’s raised voice cut through the fog, prompting Bucky to sit up a little straighter. A coldness gripped his heart as he rewound a bit, then hit play again.

_“If you’d killed him when you were supposed to, we wouldn’t have this problem!”_

The handheld clicked loudly, the sound echoing in the loft as Bucky hit stop, rewound, and listened once again. Through his binoculars, Bucky could see Tony Stark was still in the office, was talking to Pepper about something, oblivious and vulnerable.

_“If you’d killed him when you were supposed to, we wouldn’t have this problem! We’ll never get another chance like that.”_

Bucky adjusted the volume, watched the tiny reels spinning through the clear plastic of the handheld, the hiss setting his teeth on edge. There was no way to hear the other end of the phone call, but he could hear Stane’s heavy breathing. Hear the agitated footfalls as he paced around his office, could see it in his mind as he closed his eyes and concentrated.

_“The board votes on Thursday. The little prick will be locked out of the company, but Tony has a way of getting himself out of trouble. We can’t risk it.”_

The reels of the cassette squeaked softly as they turned and turned, heedless of Bucky’s grim expression, or the white knuckled grip he had on the player.

_“I don’t care how, as long as he’s dead before the week is out! The next time we talk, it better be done, otherwise don’t bother calling.”_

The conversation ended with a bang, Stane hanging up with unnecessary force before cursing under his breath. Bucky listened to the echo of destruction as something went crashing to the ground, but otherwise was left with silence as Stane stormed out of his office.

He stopped, rewound, listened through once or twice more before rewinding the tape all the way to the beginning and stacking it with the others. He didn’t bother with the unchecked material, just bundled everything up as he’d done since the assignment began, and tamped down on the panic before it could get its hooks in him proper.

Fear got in the way of thinking, cheered from the sidelines as you made mistakes, overlooked obvious courses of action, letting the animal impulse run wild through the evolved brain. He’d always been able to shut that off, and now was no different.

He could signal Hawkeye, request a meet so he could relay the bit of intel he’d stumbled upon, and then return to his assignment. Bucky wasn’t foolish enough to think that overhearing something gave him any right to become involved beyond that point. S.H.I.E.L.D. would lock him out, might even pull him off the tapes entirely.

At the very least, he’d find himself sidelined while a standard debrief took place. That meant hours, possibly days, of being kept out of the way while they poked and prodded. He’d done baseline lie detector tests, gone through the normal psych evals, been examined under the influence of chemicals. The problem was, Tony Stark wasn’t just a target; Bucky _cared_ about what happened to him. While he could project cool and suppress panic, he wasn’t entirely convinced that his body wouldn’t somehow betray him during a prolonged, intensive interrogation.

So that course of action was right out.

He could make the drop as usual without alerting S.H.I.E.L.D. one way or another, and then try to intercept the assassin on his own, but that came with a whole other mess of risks. Even with a full team, keeping eyes on Stark at all times would be impossible without Tony being an active participant. Ghosting him wouldn’t help him in the least if Stane’s accomplice opted for something less obvious, like poison.

The entire time he’d been thinking through his options, Bucky had been working himself into his most respectable disguise. Really, he’d already known what he was going to do. Thinking it through was merely a formality, running the options out of habit to see if he’d overlooked anything.

Bucky smiled at his reflection in the mirror. Suit, tie, light colored wig, glasses, the tapes secured within his briefcase for the drop. Winter was his friend; no one looked twice at someone wearing gloves, or keeping their hands in their pockets, which certainly helped with hiding the prosthetic. All that was missing was the expensive overcoat, and the look would be complete.

While immediately notifying S.H.I.E.L.D. might be the safest option on paper, Bucky didn’t trust them. The type of op they were running didn’t feel like it was intended to protect the man. Yes, S.H.I.E.L.D. could simply be gathering intel, there could be entire other teams with weapons drawn, ready to strike down anyone threatening Tony, but Bucky doubted it.

Scientists and visionaries of Stark’s caliber were in high demand. More likely they were looking for blackmail material, or planning to frame him for something, manipulate him into getting back to work making weapons. He could only imagine the celebrations that had taken place in the Kremlin after Tony announced SI was changing course; a nice counterbalance to the panic that had no doubt gripped the bigwigs in Washington.

In the end, none of that mattered to Bucky as much as what his own heart told him. He knew what it was to be held against your will. To be controlled, manipulated, twisted around and broken. To be stripped of everything, unless you were strong enough to hold onto your will to survive.

A sledgehammer breaks glass but forges steel.[2]

While the world looked at Tony Stark and saw a silly playboy having a nervous breakdown, Bucky saw something else entirely. He saw the man of iron lying beneath the fancy exterior finally making an appearance. He saw someone willing to risk everything, because his eyes had been opened, and he understood that doing the right thing was the _only_ option.

Tony deserved the truth. He’d earned it the hard way. He deserved to know what Stane had orchestrated, should be in a position to defend himself or attack preemptively. And because it was the right thing to do, Bucky was going to risk everything in order to tell him.

* * *

  1. Leon Trotsky, "We do not change our course" (1938)  ↑




	4. Chapter 4

Bucky was never more grateful for Pepper Potts than he was as he crossed the street, holding his hand up at honking taxi cabs as if that would do anything at all if one decided to run him down. No one paid him any mind as he did this, because a dozen or so other New Yorkers were doing the same thing.

Tony was at SI that day because of Pepper, which meant he was running on her schedule, which meant Happy Hogan would enforce said schedule to the best of his ability. As long as you factored in twenty odd minutes for Tony being difficult, you could have a pretty secure timeline for what Bucky had planned.

He’d fully embraced his businessman persona, taking care to modify his gait, to fight his natural inclination to scan and rescan the environment for potential threats. Acting like a soldier or an operative was a surefire way to draw attention to himself.

No, he moved as if he was rich, powerful, and the people on the street were beneath his consideration. He purposefully bumped into a pedestrian along the way, then acted like it had been the man’s fault, snapping off a quick, “Watch where you’re going.”

His hope was that it would help the brush pass with Tony look more natural, but it all depended upon who was watching. Hawkeye would be onto him in an instant, but if it was Rumlow he’d be in good shape.

Tony would be crossing his path any moment, and so Bucky began a countdown from five in his head. The world around him seemed to slow down, sounds falling away so that he was left alone with the numbers in his head, and his own steady heartbeat.

пять.

He pushed the carefully folded piece of paper up from inside his glove into his palm proper.

четыре.

Up ahead, Happy could be spotted holding the door open for Tony, arm extended toward the curb, where the car was already waiting. Bucky adjusted his pace accordingly.

три.

Tony had a smile plastered to his face as he joked with Happy, but the closer he came, the easier it was for Bucky to see the exhaustion he was attempting to hide.

два.

As if he had pressing business within the building, Bucky plowed on for the door, making a noise of displeasure as he knocked his shoulder against Stark’s, invading his personal space for a moment.

один.

Bucky pressed the piece of paper into Tony’s hand then closed Tony’s fingers around it, while simultaneously making eye contact with him.

“My apologies, Mr. Stark,” he said, hoping Tony could see past the diversionary tactic, would somehow pick up the intensity in his gaze. At least Tony’s big brown eyes were still focused on him, although he was already moving to examine what he’d been given. “Wait ‘til you’re alone,” Bucky said softly before continuing on into the building.

The deed done, everything seemed to come to life around him, sound rushing in again like the tide. He didn’t dare turn around, had to trust that Tony had held onto the piece of paper, that he would wait until he was in the back of his car before letting on that he’d been handed anything.

His biggest concern was that the note wouldn’t be taken seriously. It was written out in code, mostly to get Tony’s attention. Bucky’s gut told him that the chances of Tony taking the warning seriously would increase significantly if he had to decipher the message first.

_You are in danger._

_Obadiah Stane responsible for your kidnapping. Was meant to be assassination._

_Has swayed SI Board of Managers. Thursday’s vote will lock you out of company._

_Stane still has contract out. Card to be punched “before week is out.”_

_Will help if possible, but ability to engage is limited. Take all necessary precautions to ensure survival._

_\- A friend._

Not breaking his stride, Bucky went right for the front desk, casually asked for directions for an office, then made his way to the bank of elevators, opting instead to bypass them at the last moment in order to duck into the stairwell. Down two flights, a quick bit of knife work, and he was out a service entrance door without triggering an alarm. Once he walked a block or two cutting through the alleyways, he headed for the subway, and then it was off to the dead drop.

Somehow, Bucky made it on time, even though he’d stopped along the way to shed parts of his disguise, so that a very different looking man was seen in the park than the one that had bumped into Tony Stark hours before.

Despite his precautions, Bucky was almost positive he’d return to the loft to find several agents there waiting to take him into custody. It was almost a disappointment to find everything as he’d left it.

The unease only grew as the evening wore on. If Tony was at home, he was below ground. A quick listen confirmed nothing else of interest was waiting on the tapes, and so he went about putting the equipment back in order, as if it were any other evening.

Bucky rubbed at his right temple with two fingers, cigarette burning in the ashtray beside him, wishing he could sleep. It had been a day or two since he'd had any, and the exhaustion was probably to blame for his headache, but the idea of closing his eyes at that moment was laughable. Instead, he set the deck corresponding to the mansion to play through the speakers, keeping the volume low enough that he’d theoretically hear anyone approaching, and began killing time.

Coffee would have been welcome, but he’d neglected to stop for supplies on the way back to the loft, and was out. He’d need more cigarettes, too. Bucky allowed himself a lengthy internal debate on whether it was more or less suspicious and or risky to leave the loft for a late night supply run.

He’d managed to talk himself into going out, and was actually reaching for the deck to cut the speaker for the live feed when he heard the familiar sound of Tony leaving his subterranean workshop. Suddenly nervous, Bucky plugged the headphones back in and cranked the volume until he could make out Tony’s breathing.

As he closed his eyes, Bucky heard Tony clear his throat. “Uh. Hey, Jarvis?”

“Yes, sir?”

“I might have a friend dropping by to help me out with something later,” Tony said, doing his best to sound disinterested. “Not sure on availability yet. Do me a favor and take care of any, ah, necessary precautions?”

“Very well, sir.”

“Thanks.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped open as soon as the exchange ended, his heart almost beating in time to the sound of Tony’s footfalls. If someone listened to the conversation, it wouldn’t stand out in the least, but it was more than enough for Bucky.

Tony had figured out he was under surveillance and was trying to get a message to him, which must mean he’d taken the threat seriously. Now the only problem was figuring out how to accept Tony’s invitation without compromising himself in the process.

There was also the question of whether or not the invite was a trap. Yes, he was paranoid, but that was mostly because you had to be to survive in the world. Bucky wouldn't put it past S.H.I.E.L.D. to have been working with Tony all along, using the detail as an opportunity to test Bucky. He could walk into their meet only to have Tony turn him over.

It didn't even need to be particularly nefarious or complicated or egocentric. Tony could have already been aware of Stane's involvement in his kidnapping, could have contracted S.H.I.E.L.D. for protection and evidence gathering while he pretended to be none the wiser. It wouldn't have been the first time they'd used an op to ferret out an agent's loyalties, or reliability in the field. Bucky had done a pretty spectacular job of fucking protocol in the ass, so if that was the case he could kiss his career, and possibly his freedom goodbye.

Of course, that wasn't the only possibility. There was always a chance that Stane had contracted S.H.I.E.L.D. to abduct Tony, and they'd decided he was more valuable alive and working than dead. Nick Fury talked a good talk, but Bucky knew a professional liar when he saw one.

Fuck, it could be all of the scenarios rolled into one, S.H.I.E.L.D. working on both sides of the equation, waiting to guide everything in the direction of their choosing, waiting to see what would benefit them the most. Or a dozen other variations he couldn't think of. There was no way to know for sure based on the information he had.

The headache pounded behind his temples, and Bucky stopped his line of thinking, took a deep breath, unclenching his jaw. Behind his closed eyes he saw Tony that first night, standing at the window of his office, toasting the empty room. He heard the soft, pained sounds he made as he cried in his sleep. Everything that made Bucky the man he was screamed that these were the only truths that mattered.

Any way you sliced it, he'd already crossed a line. Tony had asked for his help, and Bucky knew he would give whatever he had left, because helping was the right thing to do.

Never mind that the thought of seeing Tony again—being up close and personal—had him excited for completely unprofessional reasons. It was easy to forget that Tony didn't know he existed, that their friendship had been one sided up until this moment. If Tony was half as smart as people said he was, he'd assume Bucky was the assassin, and this was all a ruse to get close. Using the truth was the best way to lie and manipulate, after all.

It had to be a trap.

But what did it matter? In the grand scheme of things, he didn't have anything to lose. Steve would be disappointed if he was executed or locked up, but he'd survived losing Bucky before. It might be easier the second time around. It wasn't even like they had each other now. Bucky would cooperate with the powers that be, in exchange for Steve being left out of things, but other than the ghost of that relationship his life was an empty room. And here was a chance to share it, even if for only a moment, with Tony.

There wasn't any other choice, really.


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky didn’t bother with a disguise. It felt disrespectful, or perhaps counterproductive was the better word. He needed Tony to believe him; showing up pretending to be someone he was not wouldn’t help him much in that regard.

It wasn’t the only reason.

His optimism had long since been beaten out of him. He was leaving the loft under the assumption that he wouldn’t be returning. This could be his one and only moment to connect with Tony in any small way, and the idea of hiding himself didn’t sit right with Bucky.

And so he went as he was. Eyes with dark circles beneath them, a day’s worth of stubble, his short hair a little messy after having been pinned under the wig. Combat boots, combat pants, a worn dark denim jacket, and his gloves.

The knives he kept on his person, but the gun he left behind.

Staring at himself in the mirror, Bucky wondered what Tony would see when looking at him. His own opinion was that he seemed like an unsavory character. It was the eyes more than anything. Each horrible thing he’d witnessed in his relatively short lifetime had dimmed the light behind them a little more, until he was left with nothing. Cold and gray like the sky had been on the day he’d been left behind, presumed dead.

He blinked, and tried on a smile, but that made it worse. And so he turned out the lights, and he left the loft, the anticipation putting a little spring in his step.

Despite assuming it was a one way trip, Bucky couldn't help but go through the whole dry clean routine, but it didn’t seem like he was being followed. Shit, if they’d really been watching they wouldn’t need to bother; they’d already know he was heading for Tony Stark.

With that in mind, he ditched the pretense and proceeded along the shortest possible route, until he found himself at the gates. He could attempt to sneak in, but it was less suspicious to just hit the buzzer and request entry. Tony had already announced a friend was dropping by, after all.

“May I ask who is calling?”

“A friend. Tony is expecting me.”

Bucky had a sudden case of the nerves. It wasn’t so much that he was waiting for the trap to spring shut, it was more the realization that he was moments away from _speaking_ with Tony. It shouldn’t have been so… _exciting_. And the longer he stood at the gate, waiting, the more the tension built up inside of his chest and his head, every muscle taut with anticipation. It was maddening in the way feeling an itch on the hand that was no longer there was maddening.

Just as he prepared to circumvent the security and let himself in, the gate buzzed and swung open. Bucky exhaled his relief, stepped through, and ignored the sound of the gate closing behind him. Past the point of no return. Step after step, until he was at the front door, and walking through, and then…

He supposed some people took their time to look around the interior of the mansion, awed by the opulence, but Bucky only had eyes for the man standing at the center of it all. Tony wasn’t wearing one of his fancy suits. He was in a beat up pair of jeans, a Black Flag t-shirt pulled over a thermal, the sleeves of which were pushed up to his elbows. Bucky looked him over from the mismatching sneakers up to where his hair was matted to one side of his head, and was legitimately surprised when he felt his heart flutter in response, like a bird beating its wings against the inside of his ribs.

Tony’s jaw was tilted almost defiantly as he tugged absently on his lower lip with a thumb, right elbow cradled in his left hand. Long, graceful looking fingers stroked his beard, as he studied Bucky with wild, intense eyes, as if he expected his visitor to sprout horns at any moment.

As if coming to some sort of decision, Tony let his hands drop to his hips, and slapped a broad smile onto his face. “Thanks for dropping by on such short notice.”

Bucky licked his lower lip, swallowed, and spoke. “Thanks for having me.”

A tiny burst of adrenaline left him feeling oddly giddy. He’d had a flash of himself, only he was still sitting back in the loft, listening to this moment as it happened in real time, eyes closed and headphones pressed tight to his ears. As if there were two of him. Maybe there were. How would he even know? Just thinking about it was enough to make his headache worsen.

“May I take your jacket, sir?”

Bucky twitched, torn between manners and practicalities.

“Let’s let him keep it, Jarvis. That’s Jarvis, by the way, but I’m guessing you already knew that?” Bucky nodded. “Thought as much. Right, so, I think me and my friend here have a lot to talk about. In private.”

Jarvis’s disapproval was palpable, but Tony seemed inappropriately at ease, all things considered. Tony gestured with his head as if to indicate the direction they should travel, but Bucky found himself acting impulsively. He tugged the glove off of his hand, tucked it into a pocket, then shrugged himself out of the denim jacket.

Tony's eyes widened in surprise, while Jarvis took the jacket and arched an eyebrow. Bucky raised his arms, and met Jarvis's eyes. "Knife in the right boot, another at the small of my back. Rather hold onto them, if that's okay."

Jacket draped over his arm, Jarvis moved to perform a pat down, but stopped when Tony swept over. "I've got it. I'll let you know if we need anything, J."

"Very well, sir."

Bucky ignored the disapproving tone and Jarvis's reluctant departure, focused entirely on Tony.

"Guess I should be cautious, all things considered."

But then Tony _winked_ as he stepped close and began running his hands over Bucky's body, pausing as he came into contact with the prosthesis. As he watched, Tony chewed on his lower lip as if to stymie whatever he wished to say, then moved his hands down along Bucky's sides. Rather than walking around him, Tony remained where he was, stepping closer still, chest bumping against Bucky's as he reached under his arms. Palms ran up and down his back, slow and methodical strokes, pausing again when they encountered the sheathed knife at the small of his back.

The entire time this took place, Tony maintained eye contact, looking up at him through his lashes. Bucky was tempted to point out that this was more of an embrace than a pat down, but that might have prompted Tony to stop. He didn't _want_ Tony to stop. He could smell Tony's cologne, feel the heat coming off of his body. He wanted Tony to slide his hands down over his ass, then drop to his knees, drag his fingers along the insides of his thighs, or...

The sudden desire was unexpected and unwelcome. Bucky struggled to keep his breathing steady, reminded himself that it had been a long time since he'd been touched. His captors—the Americans and the Soviets both—had frequently manhandled him, but in a way that made him feel insignificant. Steve had held him tight, rocking him, nose tucked against his shoulder, but a few hugs from a friend didn't count for much after years of being treated like an object.

He was admittedly touch starved, and Tony's inexperience made the pat down seem far more intimate than it should have. That had to be the reason why he wanted to let his arms fall, pull Tony closer, crush their bodies together. What he didn't have an explanation for was why Tony had _stopped_ , was just staring up at him, hands resting on Bucky's hips.

"Do you blink, like, at all?"

Bucky exhaled sharply, the soft snort of laughter catching him by surprise. He made a point of blinking exaggeratedly, disappointed when Tony backed away, putting space between them again. He ran a hand through his hair, looking ever so slightly flustered, which made Bucky feel a little better. Maybe he hadn't been the only one feeling confused.

"Right, business, follow me."

Bucky wanted to point out that Tony hadn't finished the pat down, that he should be thorough, but bit his lip instead. Tony's life was in danger, and his own future hung in the balance; that should take precedence. And so he followed obediently, nervous excitement making him feel oddly alive.

Tony headed for an elevator, then pulled a little notepad and pen from his back pocket, scribbled, and held it up for Bucky to read.

_Assuming our conversation will be private on lower levels?_

Bucky nodded, and Tony relaxed just a bit, gesturing for Bucky to enter first. They stood in awkward silence for a moment before the doors opened and Tony led him into a gymnasium of all places. It wasn't what he'd expected to find below the mansion, but a safe place to talk was more important than the location itself.

Tony spun on his heels, an actual smile on his face as he clapped his hands together and pointed.

"You're _Barnes_ , aren't you?" Bucky inhaled sharply, which was as much an answer as anything. "I knew it as soon as I felt the prosthesis. I've read parts of your file! Well, the parts S.H.I.E.L.D. decided were relevant anyway. The rest was conveniently missing, or blacked out."

The sinking sensation threatened to overwhelm him. Tony had spoken with S.H.I.E.L.D., not only knew who he was, but had a file on him. He’d been right all along; they'd used Tony as a trap. He struggled against the devastation this realization brought with it, perhaps not doing as good a job of hiding it as he’d hoped. Tony seemed to understand that his statement had upset Bucky, took several steps forward as if to stop him from leaving, hands held up in a placating gesture.

"Hey, wait, it's okay. SI did more than manufacture weapons even before I pumped the brakes on all that. Don't worry, I won't do anything _unsavory_ with it."

Bucky pushed his feelings down, down, like he'd always done when lining up a target, waited for the cold detachment to wash over him before speaking.

"Do you know S.H.I.E.L.D.'s ETA?"

Tony's confusion appeared genuine, which only added to Bucky's own. "Uh, I thought you were working with them?"

Bucky nodded, watching as Tony nervously tapped his fingers against the center of his chest. "You have no idea what I've been talking about, do you?"

"No. All I know is I broke protocol to warn you about a threat to your life," Bucky explained slowly in a flat, even tone, his jaw clenched as he carefully enunciated every word. "I'm looking at a world of trouble when they find out."

Tony's eyes widened as Bucky spoke, so that by the time he finished, Stark finally appeared legitimately concerned. More than concerned, he was downright dejected.  "So it's true then? About Obie?"

Bucky recognized that voice. It was the one Tony used when he thought no one could hear him. "I wouldn’t have risked getting thrown back in a detention center if I wasn’t sure.” The muscles in Tony’s jaw jumped at this. “The mansion and six sections of SI are under audio surveillance."

"Wait, we sweep at SI," he interrupted, brow furrowed.

"They're mounted outside. Something new S.H.I.E.L.D. came up with. Still have no idea how they're dealing with the noise pollution."

Tony’s misery was immediately chased away by outrage. “I know how, because I _invented_ the fucking prototype! I handed over a dozen of them. S.H.I.E.L.D. was going to field test and get back to me, but that was before… everything.”

Despite himself, Bucky laughed. Not the sort of laugh Steve would have recognized from their childhood, but something darker, bitter. Tony had both eyebrows arched, and was looking extremely put out, which only made it harder to stop.

“Sorry, it’s just so very S.H.I.E.L.D., isn’t it? They ask you build them something, then use it against you the first chance they get.”

Tony opened his mouth, but then snorted, scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Yeah, actually. That’s them in a nutshell, isn’t it?” Bucky nodded slowly, while Tony folded his arms across his chest and stared up at the ceiling. He sounded as if he was talking to himself when he added, “I forgot I even made them.”

“Forgetting is normal.” Suddenly, he had Tony’s full attention. “That was the life of another person, wasn’t it? Your experiences have forced you to become aware. You have a purpose now.”

For a long, drawn out moment, the only sound was Tony’s slightly chaotic breathing. Bucky watched him processing the words, heart fluttering once more as he absorbed the nuances of Tony’s expression. The slight tremor at the corner of his mouth, the rapid blinking as the tears welled up. Bucky could happily lose himself in Tony’s eyes for days. Maybe it was only the lack of genuine human interaction he’d had since being given his assignment—hell, since that last mission with the Commandos—but he felt it was something else entirely.

Bucky thought of the look of horror, the anguish and despair and desolation, that had swept across Steve’s face as he desperately tried to grab hold of his outstretched hand. The way Steve’s heart had broken right in front of Bucky’s eyes as he realized he wasn’t going to be able to save his friend this time. In many ways seeing it, being the cause of it, had hurt more than the fall itself. Crashing through trees, bouncing around like a rag doll, the ultimate, bone shattering landing, all of that had paled in comparison.

He still had no idea why he hadn’t died that day. Had nothing but nightmares and scars to show for having survived the years that followed. Unlike Tony, the world had forgotten him, and he seemed not to have a place in it any longer. When Steve looked at him, he was looking for the man he had known. When the powers that be looked at him, they saw a potential threat, or a useful pawn.

Tony, though, Tony was staring back at _him_ , at whoever he was _now._ Big brown eyes wet with unshed tears, but open, so very open that there was a genuine connection taking place. Being seen was painful in the way a lot of the transformative moments in his life had been. It was also exhilarating, was a relief, reminded him a little of sex. Not the sort of pedestrian sex he’d had before enlisting, but the reaffirming, desperate, almost animalistic fucking he’d done after. The sort that reminded you that you were still alive, were a _human being,_ that you were more than just another finger on a trigger.

An overwhelming and unexpected feeling of elation swept through him, and all of it was because of Tony. It was _for_ Tony. “Finally,” his heart seemed to say, “a reason to keep beating.”

“This is a good thing, Tony,” Bucky said softly, and some of the joy crept into his voice. “I didn’t even _have_ a purpose. Now I think keeping you safe so you can fulfill your own might be why I’m still alive.”

Tony’s huff of surprise was soft, vulnerable, and seemed to trigger some sort of self-defense mechanism. Bucky watched Tony’s expression shift as he closed himself off. There was the slightest edge of disappointment in his voice. “You don’t even know me.”

Bucky wanted to argue the point, but Tony was right. Drawing conclusions while watching from a distance wasn’t the same as being a part of someone’s life. “True. But I’d like the chance to, if I live long enough.”

He wasn’t sure how he expected Tony to react, but it certainly wasn’t for him to point at the elevator. "Get in."

Bucky swallowed around the lump in his throat, feeling close to tears himself. There it was then, Tony's decision. The rejection stung, especially on the heels of his revelation, but it was only to be expected. If Tony had really, truly seen him as Bucky was sure he had, the only logical course of action was to get as far away from him as possible.

So he nodded, marched to the elevator, shoulders stiff, staring straight ahead. "I don't know who Stane was talking to. Could even be someone inside of S.H.I.E.L.D. I have a narrow view of the field."

"No phone taps then?"

Tony brushed past him to step into the elevator, jabbing at the buttons and pressing his palm to a panel in the wall before the doors slid shut.

"No. Guess they never got around to having you make them."

Beside him, Tony laughed, the sound somewhat muffled as he ran his hands over his face. Bucky watched him press his fingers over his closed eyes as if to ease some pressure there, his own head throbbing in sympathy. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to cross the space between them, put an arm around his shoulders, pull him into an embrace. Tony wouldn't welcome the gesture, was escorting Bucky off of the premises, and so he supposed he would spend the rest of his life tortured by wondering how it would feel.

Tony sighed as the elevator dinged, dragging Bucky's attention away from the man beside him. He heard a gasp, realized it wasn’t Tony, that he’d been responsible for the soft, vulnerable noise. The reason was simple. They weren't back on the ground floor, they were somewhere else entirely.

Ahead of him was the strangest room Bucky had ever seen, like something from the comics he and Steve had read obsessively as kids. Gleaming surfaces, machines with blinking lights, fantastical equipment everywhere. Bucky half expected an alien or a cyborg to walk through the room and say hello.

"You coming, or what?" Tony asked.

Blinking again, Bucky realized he was still standing in the elevator, and that Tony was watching him with a smile tugging at his lips. Bucky was too surprised to feel embarrassed, just strode out of the elevator, followed Tony into the room.

Maybe Tony had hoped to bring someone down to this level, because there were several large, unidentifiable shapes covered by tarps, effectively hiding whatever it was he'd been working on. Bucky didn't have time to ask about it, though, because once he was in the room proper he felt as if he’d been sucker punched.

"Like I said, I haven't done anything unsavory with it." Tony shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced over his shoulder, tilting his head as if to beckon Bucky closer. "This is amazing, by the way. I'm still trying to figure out how it works, but the detail—the articulation—is just a thing of beauty."

Bucky was having trouble breathing, his left side screaming at him, the phantom limb pain flaring to life when confronted with the sight of his arm spread out on a table. Tony bent at the waist, bringing his face close to the metal, even as he reached out and touched the hand. There was something obscenely intimate about the way Tony’s fingers stroked reverently over the metal of the appendage, and despite knowing it was impossible, Bucky _felt_ the touch on the hand that was no longer there. It made him _ache_ , and he had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, try to will away the desperation clawing its way through his heart.

"Only problem is I can't get it to work. It’s like somebody took away the power button. I mean, I can _see_ that nothing here is for show, there are motorized sections and—"

Bucky was almost hyperventilating. "It's my arm." It was a stupid thing to say, but he was a bit preoccupied with the impact of what he was seeing and hearing. Stupidly, he wanted to rejoice at the understanding that Tony was in possession of a physical piece of himself, had been for some time. It made him want to laugh, or maybe cry.

Tony looked a bit taken aback, guilt flickering in his eyes. "You didn't know I had it, did you?"

"Why would I?" Bucky hadn't heard that much emotion in his voice since saying goodbye to Steve. "They ripped it off of me as soon as we were back on American soil."

"I didn't know, they never,” Tony sounded panicked. “They brought it to me to figure out how it works, and... _Fuck_. I should have known."

Bucky began unbuttoning his shirt, his hand shaking. "Can I put it on? Just... Just for a minute?"

Tony looked a bit mortified. "Yeah, yes, of course, sorry, that's why I brought you down here. Is it okay if I videotape this?" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. There was a camera mounted to a tripod nearby. "Science," he said weakly. "I've been working on something, and I'm thinking—"

"Record if you want," Bucky interrupted, unable to look away from the gleaming metal.

Tony was already behind the camera, making adjustments. Bucky turned to face the lens, sliding his hand inside of his shirt to begin unfastening the straps securing the prosthesis, so that he was able to let that and the shirt fall to the ground in one go. Tony inhaled sharply as Bucky yanked his undershirt off as well, and threw it to the floor, so he was naked from the waist up.

" _Shit_."

Pausing, Bucky glanced down at himself. The arm wasn't entirely gone, ended mid-bicep. Initially he’d only lost from below the elbow, but they'd cut more and more away as they’d perfected the replacement limb. The stump ended unnaturally, a metal socket fused into skin and bone and muscle. There was a corresponding band of metal embedded around his shoulder, where the final connections would be made once the arm was fully attached.

But those were practical, clean modifications to his body. The other scars weren't quite so clinical. He'd been tortured for a time before they'd decided his strange sturdiness might make him a better candidate for medical experimentation. Surgical scars were scattered between burns, the jagged aftermath of knife wounds, the odd puckered spots where he'd been shot. His back was covered in crisscrossing scars from one KGB officer particularly fond of lashing his prisoners.

Bucky’s scars didn’t bother him; he counted himself lucky that he'd made it out without being horrifically disfigured. He had seen what was left of others after being tortured in the Lubyanka[3]. Not only the people themselves (if they survived) but literal _pieces_ of them that had been left behind as an intimidation tactic. Walking into a room with blood, teeth, fingernails, and god only knew what else on the floor certainly set the stage for questioning.

Tony though. Tony seemed unprepared for the aftermath of what the KGB had done, had a hand pressed against the center of his chest, his eyes wide and vulnerable.

“What did they do to you?” he whispered, and Bucky wondered if Tony even realized he’d asked the question.

“Whatever they wanted.”

Bucky couldn’t think of a word that encapsulated the sound Tony made in response to the brutally honest answer. Suddenly, he wasn’t behind the camera any longer, he was back at Bucky’s side staring up at him, _seeing_ him again. The walls were long gone, and Bucky found himself curious about the way Tony kept touching his chest, wondered if he had his own collection of scars.

“Do you need any help, ah, attaching the arm?” Bucky shrugged, and tore his eyes away from Tony in order to focus on the other missing piece of himself. “Is it… Can I?”

Bucky nodded his head, heart rate accelerating in anticipation. “Yeah. You do it.”

He watched, a tremor running through him as Tony lifted the arm from the table and approached, rotating it slightly and eyeing Bucky as if to gauge his readiness. His teeth were biting down into his lower lip, brow furrowed with concentration. Only, as he began to slide the prosthesis home, his eyes flickered away from what they were doing, and met Bucky’s own. And so he was staring directly into Tony’s eyes as the connection was made, the socket snapping into place, saw the way Tony’s eyes went round with wonder in response to his (and the arm’s) reaction.

As soon as the prosthesis slid home, the arm flared to life, metal unfolding from the top to slide up and over the remains of his arm, making a satisfying clicking noise as each plate snapped into place, until ultimately encountering the ring at his shoulder. Bucky gasped, felt his lips part in shocked relief. When he moaned, it could only be interpreted as pure pleasure.

Tony’s eyes were flicking back and forth, watching the mechanics at work while simultaneously attempting to maintain eye contact, dilated pupils making his eyes appear black. Bucky lurched forward slightly as the arm came fully online, gasping as Tony reflexively put a hand out to steady him, fingers warm against his shoulder.

Bucky felt himself grinning, hyper aware of the muscles of his face feeling stiff with disuse. As he regained sensation throughout the appendage, the phantom pain and his headache were flushed away in a lovely wave of endorphins. He exhaled shakily, rolled his shoulders, and raised his left arm, flexing his fingers before making a fist.

“Wow,” Tony gasped, his expression soft, almost childlike. “Fuck me, that is _gorgeous_.”

Another shudder ran through his body, but it was welcomed. “Feels like pins and needles at first,” he explained, shaking out the arm as if to get the blood flowing again. The smile was still on his face, he could feel it, but it seemed appropriate now as he acclimated, quickly readjusting to the weight and balance of having his arm back. Tony was grinning back at him, actually let out a whoop of delight when Bucky flexed again and opened the vents.

“Now _that_ is sexy,” he declared, reaching out to trace a fingertip over the edge of a plate.

Tony’s other hand was still on Bucky, although it had slid a bit lower, palm now pressed against his chest. Bucky was so hyperstimulated that the innocent physical contact felt downright seductive, sent waves of heat and want throughout his body. His chest heaved slightly, his mouth going dry as he tried to calm himself.

It had been a long time since he’d felt such _desire_. Yes, he masturbated, but it was perfunctory at best, usually executed with the same level of enthusiasm as brushing his teeth. Orgasms weren’t unpleasant, but since captivity dealing with his body’s arousal had been nothing more than another aspect of physical maintenance. Something to get out of the way so he could focus on the rest of his day.

This, though, was something else entirely. It was feeling as if Tony’s touch was branding him, seering a mark into his skin, so he would never again forget the pleasure his body was capable of experiencing. Bucky wanted to press himself closer, wanted _more_.

Tony Stark was dangerous in ways that Bucky could never have prepared himself for.

“How much do you actually feel?” Tony asked. He pulled his hand away from Bucky’s flesh, reaching instead for the cool metal of his cybernetic wrist.

Bucky struggled to push aside the poorly timed reawakening of desire, captivated by the sight and sensation of Tony’s hands running up and down the length of his arm as if gathering data with his fingertips. “Pressure, mostly,” he stammered. “But… but there’s sensory feedback. Especially in the hand.”

Tony was all ears, didn’t seem bothered by Bucky’s behavior, which made it a little easier to relax. He swallowed, and shifted quickly, leaving Tony little time to react before pressing their palms together. “They feel almost exactly like my real fingers,” he explained, “except for temperature. Can’t tell if your hand is warm or cold, but I can feel the callouses on your fingers.”

“How the hell did they manage that without brain surgery?” Tony threaded their fingers together and squeezed Bucky’s hand, his eyes darting around as he contemplated the question.

“Didn’t. Got a couple implants, actually,” Bucky admitted, tapping the side of his head. “Had to be awake for the brain surgeries. Needed to ask me questions while poking around in there.”

Tony’s brows drew together again. “I don’t know how you can smile while saying something like that.”

Suddenly embarrassed, Bucky ducked his head, reluctantly pulled his hand free of Tony’s grasp. To his surprise, Tony grabbed for his wrist again, squeezing. “Sorry.”

Bucky shook his head. “S’okay. I know I’m fucked up.”

“You’re not,” Tony insisted, tugging on Bucky’s arm until he raised his head, met his eyes. “I wish I could be so matter of fact about… about _me_ , but I can’t. That’s all. No judgement, honest. I’m _sorry_.”

Bucky licked his lips, but gave a little nod. It was obvious Tony hadn't intended for his comment to be taken as an insult, and that he'd even give Bucky's feelings consideration was a small miracle as far as he was concerned.

"The smile was for the arm," Bucky said softly, looking down at his palms. "Never thought I'd feel it again, to be honest."

Tony scrubbed a hand through his hair, which made it stand up all wild. This was accompanied by a sort of self deprecating sound of disappointment. "I got so wrapped up in the tech that I never stopped to think..." He shrugged a shoulder, mouth quirking to the side. "Story of my life."

"Even if you'd refused, wouldn't have done me any good. They'd have locked it up somewhere. At least this way I got to wear it one more time."

"Yeah, and you’ll keep wearing it, if I have anything to say about it."

Bucky nodded at this, though he couldn’t share Tony’s optimism. He'd either leave on his own accord or be dragged away, but however it went down he wasn't stupid enough to think he would ever see Tony or his arm again. At least some small part of him would remain with Tony, unless S.H.I.E.L.D. decided to revoke his access to the arm. It was a small comfort, but better than nothing.

"The threat to your life," Bucky reminded him, leaning over to snatch his undershirt off of the floor. Tony watched him pull it back on with a grim sort of intensity, eyes darting again and again to the movement of the metal appendage.

"Yeah. That." Tony looked like a petulant teenager, folding his arms across his chest and looking away with a scowl.

“This is serious.”

Tony met his eyes, held his gaze. “So is this." Which made no sense, but Bucky just kept his mouth shut. Waited. After a moment, Tony exhaled loudly, and gestured to a couch on the opposite side of the room. “Fine. How about you start back at the beginning. We were on different wavelengths last time ‘round.”

Bucky watched the easy way Tony flung himself down on the couch, almost graceful in his own way. His knee bobbed up and down incessantly, and he’d returned to tugging on his lower lip. He was all nervous energy, a stark contrast to the precision and stillness of Bucky’s own movements. As he sat, Bucky had the odd impulse to take Tony’s hand, so as to trade motion for stillness through touch; somewhere between their two extremes comfort would probably be found.

Instead, he settled down beside him, sitting ramrod straight with his hands on his knees, and began speaking. Did his best to explain what had transpired since the first night he’d turned on the recorders. There were omissions, naturally. Tony didn’t need to know that Bucky only slept well if he could hear Tony’s breathing through the headphones. The more vulnerable moments he’d listened in on, the one sided conversations he’d had, none of it was relevant, and might make Tony second guess letting Bucky in his home.

Otherwise, he was honest. Confessed to having broken protocol on multiple occasions, expressed his concerns about S.H.I.E.L.D.’s potentially double-sided involvement, even shared his admittedly paranoid theory that his actions were under as much scrutiny as Tony’s own.

“So—if I’m getting this right—basically, you’re saying the only people I should even _consider_ trusting are Pepper and Jarvis? Maybe Rhodey.”

Bucky sighed in relief. Finally, after more than an hour of explanations and interruptions, Tony finally seemed to get it. “Yes.”

Despite the subject material, they’d both relaxed over the course of the conversation, so that Bucky was half turned on the couch so as to see Tony better, no longer sitting like there was a steel rod in his spine. For his part, Tony’s movements had lessened, though his mind seemed to have picked up where his body had left off. Bucky could almost see the thoughts racing behind Tony’s eyes.

“Can’t help but notice you didn’t include yourself on the Trust List.”

Bucky blinked slowly. “Because you shouldn’t trust me.”

“See, but that just makes me want to trust you more,” Tony countered, smiling.

“The more you want to trust, the less you should,” Bucky insisted. Tony opened his mouth to argue, but Bucky held his hand up, surprised when this worked. “You and I are not normal people with normal lives, Tony Stark. С волка́ми жить, по-во́лчьи выть.[4]”

Somehow, this only made Tony’s smile grow wider, and Bucky wondered if he spoke the language. “So why are you trusting _me_ , then?”

Bucky felt as if he’d been suckerpunched. Answering was impossible; he wasn’t entirely sure himself why he was trusting Tony, but feeling around the edges of the thing made him uncomfortable.

Unfortunately, the question quickly became a secondary concern, as Jarvis chose that moment to interrupt. Bucky blinked and looked up at the ceiling as a voice emanated from speakers. “Sir, Director Fury is here to see you.”

And just like that, reality settled in, gripping his heart in a cold hand. “Is Nick alone?”

“Yes, sir.”

Bucky watched Tony chew thoughtfully on his lower lip before hopping to his feet. “On my way up.” He turned, gave a head tilt toward the elevator. “Follow my lead, okay?”

Tony paused to turn off the camera and grab Bucky’s shirt, yanking the other prosthesis from the sleeve before tossing it his way. Bucky caught the balled up garment against his chest, brows furrowed as he stared at the arm he’d come in with. “The arm.”

“Yeah, that’s staying on you. Come on, hurry up.”

Bucky got himself buttoned up while they were in the elevator, ignoring Tony’s nervous energy as best he could. “Seriously, I have a plan, so don’t argue with me when we’re in front of Nick, okay?”

He nodded his consent, watching with interest as Tony took a deep breath, ran a hand over his face, and exhaled slowly. It was an interesting transformation, seeing the genuine emotion pushed aside as he shifted into the Tony Stark one saw during press conferences, or public appearances.

“Nicky,” Tony called as he strode out of the elevator. “You’re late to the party.”

Bucky had to give it to Fury, if he was surprised to see one of his most controversial agents come trailing out of the elevator behind Tony, he didn’t show it.

“Bucky fucking Barnes,” Fury said, his displeasure echoing through the mansion. “You’re in the wrong part of New York.”

True to his word, Bucky didn’t respond, let Tony take the lead. Of course, he instantly regretted the decision. Tony whirled around to look at him, eyebrows arched. “ _Bucky_? Really? You’re a grown man with a perfectly good first name like James and you go by Bucky?”

“Flirt on your own time, Stark,” Fury interrupted.

“If you don’t like the flirting, get out of the foyer. My house my time, those are the rules.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m assuming you’re here because Obie has plans to kill me, and S.H.I.E.L.D. likes my big brain enough to want me to stick around awhile.”

Fury’s eyes narrowed, but his smile seemed surprisingly genuine. “Something like that.”

“Thanks for the heads up. Real cute using my own equipment to spy on me, by the way.” Fury shrugged a shoulder. “How did you want me to handle it?”

“That’s best discussed in private.”

“Fine. Let’s head into the study.” He pivoted on his heels, pointing at Bucky as they walked off. “Don’t go anywhere.”

And, like a well trained dog, Bucky remained rooted to the spot.

* * *

  1. Supposedly the KGB stopped “interrogating” people at the Lubyanka in 1953, but since this is fiction, I’m keeping operations open since the building is infamous. Old Soviet joke was that the Lubyanka was the tallest building in Moscow, because you could see Siberia from the basement. ↑
  2. To live with wolves, you have to howl like a wolf. ↑




	6. Chapter 6

Bucky lost track of time while waiting for Tony to return, struggling against his imagination and paranoia as the minutes ticked away into hours. He was admittedly surprised that a strikeforce hadn’t made an appearance ten minutes after Fury’s arrival. If they were taking him back into custody, they were being slow about it. Everything was suspiciously quiet, although Bucky’s hearing was good enough to pick up raised voices in the distance. Whatever Tony and Fury were discussing involved a lot of shouting.

At one point, Jarvis returned to offer him refreshments, but Bucky politely declined, staying put as instructed. He wanted a cigarette, could have done with a piss, but orders were orders, and he’d long since learned how to obey.

Almost three hours had passed by the time Bucky heard the door of the study being thrown open, and the sound of the men returning. He stood a little straighter, confused by the way Tony’s expression shifted upon seeing him.

“You went and got yourself stuck right in the middle of some nasty business, Barnes,” Fury announced, giving him a cold, assessing look. “No good deed goes unpunished. From here on out, you’re shadowing Stark under the guise of bodyguard. Agent Coulson will be in touch with the particulars.”

Despite his best efforts, Bucky was too shocked to keep his mouth shut, stammering an incredulous, “sir?”

“Wasn’t my idea,” Fury snapped, “but here we all are, making the best of it. From now on, Tony Stark doesn’t leave your sight. Someone shoots, you catch the bullet. Taste the man’s food if you have to, but he makes it through this alive. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks for dropping by, Nick, always a pleasure,” Tony called, rocking on his heels as Fury stalked out, glaring over his shoulder one last time before slamming the door shut behind him.

Bucky turned and did some glaring of his own. “Oh, come on, don’t look at me like that. This is good news! Not only do you get to keep your arm, but you’re off stalker duty.” Tony’s expression softened as he continued. “Did you seriously stand in the same spot the entire time we were gone?”

“You told me not to go anywhere.” His voice remained calm, even if his heart and mind were racing. Out of all of the possibilities he’d considered, this had never been one of them.

Tony shook his head, but left it at that. “Arguing always makes me hungry,” he announced. “Let’s grab some chow.”

He didn’t have much choice but to follow, which worked out nicely, since all he wanted to do was stay by Tony’s side anyway. The unexpected happiness was threatening to take over and make him useless. Bucky had a thousand questions, wanted to know how the hell Tony had pulled it off, _why_ he had bothered. And at the same time, all the old doubts were there waiting for him beneath the surface of his happiness, watching him with crooked smiles. Traps within traps, lies within lies.

So he remained quiet, and followed, nodding to Jarvis as they walked in to find him sitting at a table in the kitchen with tea and a newspaper. “Shall I make something, sir?”

Tony waved his hand when Jarvis went to stand. “We’ll scrounge. Oh, and ah, _Bucky_ here is going to be staying with us for awhile.”

“Stick with James if you’re gonna say it like that.”

The bit of sass that made it into Bucky’s voice brought a smile to Tony’s face. “No way. Bucky’s starting to grow on me.”

Why that remark out of everything finally sunk home the realization that he had somehow managed to become an actual part of Tony’s life was beyond him. It did though. There would be no return to the loft, no court-martial, or interrogation. At least not yet. He still had to keep Tony alive, and thinking beyond that wasn’t going to do him any good whatsoever.

“Here, hold this,” Tony instructed. He began passing back items from the fridge, until Bucky had an armload. “We’ll be in the shop if anything comes up.”

“Very well, sir. Shall I prepare a room for Mr. Barnes?”

Tony seemed to consider this as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “Yeah, close to mine, if you don’t mind.”

Bucky’s traitorous heart fluttered once again, but he gave no sign. Nodded to Jarvis, dutifully followed Tony to the elevator, then waited until they were behind the closed doors before speaking again.

“I’ll be sleeping in your room.”

Once Tony stopped choking on his coffee, he wheezed, “Excuse me?”

Bucky allowed himself a moment to appreciate the flush in Tony’s face. It was only from coughing up his drink, but was still a good look on him. “You heard Director Fury. I’m your shadow from here on out.”

“You are way too literal, anybody ever tell you that?” Tony stalked into the workshop, still coughing a bit. “I think I can handle sleeping on my own.”

“Non-negotiable,” Bucky countered. He found a clean surface and began setting down his food haul, feeling a little like he’d finally gotten his feet back under him. “The floor or a couch is fine, but I’m in the room.”

Tony was pouting. “Fine, I just won’t sleep until this is over. Problem solved.”

“You’re coming up on thirty-five hours,” Bucky pointed out, smiling to himself when Tony’s eyes widened in shock. “You’ll crash at some point.”

“That’s cheating!”

Bucky shrugged. “Told you not to trust me.”

To his surprise, Tony burst out laughing. Bucky assumed it was the stress of the day and the lack of sleep catching up with him, but either way it was enjoyable to witness. He hadn’t heard this laugh during his surveillance detail. It was deep and throaty, accompanied by Tony’s eyes and nose scrunching up. Bucky wished he knew how to join in.

“Fair enough. Look, if the next few days are going to work, we’re going to need a little trust, whether it comes natural or not. I’ll trust you to keep me safe. Can I also trust you to keep certain things out of your reports back to S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

Bucky considered the request while watching Tony assemble a couple of cheese sandwiches. “Like what?”

“Like what I’ve been working on since getting home. They can’t get their hands on it.” Tony handed him a sandwich, pulling it back at the last second, suddenly very serious. “And before you give me the whole ‘if it’s that important why are you trusting anyone with it’ speech, the truth is I need your help getting it to work.”

With that, he placed the sandwich in Bucky’s outstretched hand, expression shuttered as he waited for his answer.

Once the first bite of food was in his mouth, Bucky realized he hadn’t eaten since morning, his stomach grumbling in anticipation while his mouth flooded with saliva. Tony was watching him expectantly, likely unaware of the effect his big brown eyes were currently having. They looked nothing alike, but something in Tony’s eyes reminded Bucky of a young Steve Rogers.

“Then I’ll help however I can,” he answered, surprised to hear the words leaving his mouth. Surprised by how much he meant them.

Tony seemed surprised as well. “It involves the arm. Now that it’s actually operational I need to run diagnostics, get some hard data.”

“Anything requiring sedation will be an issue,” Bucky answered after giving it some more thought. “Doesn’t work so well on me anymore. Side effect of one of their experiments. Same with painkillers.”

At the word sedation, Tony had stopped chewing, expression clouding over, perhaps remembering what he’d seen beneath Bucky’s clothes. He swallowed, sounding a bit like the air had been knocked out of him when he spoke. “Nothing like that,” he swore. “And agreeing to one thing doesn’t constitute agreement to everything. I’ll explain each test beforehand so you can give informed consent along the way.”

“Fine.”

“What about you, what can I give you in exchange for your help?”

For what felt like the thousandth time since meeting Tony, Bucky found himself confused. “I’m following orders, why would you give me anything at all?”

“Seriously? Wow, you’re actually serious. Okay, correct me if I’m wrong, but even soldiers get paid a salary.” Bucky nodded. “So, what was S.H.I.E.L.D. paying you for the surveillance detail?”

“Nothing.”

Tony blinked, sipping his coffee loudly. “I need more words, because ‘nothing’ makes no sense in this context.”

“I was declared dead by the Army, and far as I know, nothing about that has legally changed. I’m a trained sniper equally comfortable with close quarters combat. Most of my military history is classified. My most recent employment history is being a guinea pig in a Siberian prison.” He counted them off one by one on his shiny metal fingers. “And up until today I only had one arm. I don’t have options, Tony, I have orders.”

“Fuck that,” Tony snapped. “No, don’t roll your eyes, I mean it. They can’t just…”

“They can do whatever they want,” Bucky insisted, caught off guard by the vehemence in his own voice. “They always have, and they always will.”

“Well, I’m not _them_. I’m not going to order you to do anything, understand?”

Tony had slammed his mug down, had a hand pressed to his chest again before he noticed and pulled it away. He looked two seconds from well and truly freaking out. Bucky had seen it more than once in the field; it happened to everyone at some point. But Tony closed his eyes, slowed down his breathing, and tried again.

“Here’s my non-negotiable item. I’m not your superior, you’re allowed to say no to me. I’m _trusting_ you to say no if you’re not comfortable with something.” He held Bucky’s gaze. “Consent is important to me. Especially now. Same goes with the protection detail, by the way. Forget what Fury said. Watching my back is one thing, but if you take a bullet for me I’m going to be _pissed_.”

Yeah, that was definitely a bit of the old Steve Rogers stubbornness making an appearance on Tony’s face. It meshed really nicely with the big, watery brown eyes and the slight tremble to the chapped lower lip, vulnerability and strength warring for control of Tony’s face. If Bucky had to guess, he’d say the exhaustion was starting to catch up, maybe even bringing a little reality along with it.

“I broke the rules to help you, remember?” Bucky finished his sandwich, not breaking eye contact with Tony. “I _want_ to be here. I’ll speak up if I’m uncomfortable. Can I smoke?”

“No, it’s bad for the equipment,” Tony answered, staring at him. “The bathroom has a vent, though, you can smoke in there. What else?”

Clearly he wasn’t backing down on giving Bucky something in return for his services. The only problem was, other than his arm the only thing he wanted was to be around Tony. "Another change of clothes. A razor."

"Oh my god," Tony muttered to himself, rubbing the heel of his palm into his eye."This is unbelievable.”

Bucky cleared his throat. “I want to keep my arm.”

Tony threw his hands in the air, eyes wide. “Yes, thank you, much better start.” He wiggled his fingers, motioning for Bucky to keep going. “Definitely. Already working on that. More.”

“A social security number?”

“Wow, slow down, selfish.” Bucky wasn’t sure what Tony was looking for, and it was beginning to frustrate him. Tony must have seen it, too, because he held his hands up again, palms toward Bucky’s chest, chin ducked so that he was looking up through his eyelashes. “Damn. I’m being an asshole, aren’t I? You can say yes.”

“Yes.”

Oddly enough, this seemed to put Tony at ease. He exhaled loudly, blowing the air up to flutter his bangs before giving his head a shake. “That’ll keep happening. You may have noticed—what with the whole spying on me thing—that I don’t really have a lot of friends. Don’t get me wrong, the ones I _do_ have are… Well, they’re perfect. I still don’t know why they bother talking to me.” He cleared his throat and gave Bucky a self deprecating smile. “This is me attempting to apologize for having zero interpersonal skills.”

“Apology accepted.” His hand decided to betray him, reaching out to curl possessively around Tony’s shoulder. Bucky stared at his fingers in surprise. Having the arm back was surreal after so much time with a mostly unresponsive hunk of plastic and metal. “I won’t let you take advantage of me.”

Relief flooded onto Tony’s face, and to Bucky’s surprise he reached up and curled his own fingers around Bucky’s wrist. “Good. That’s real good, Bucky.” Eventually, Tony looked away, shyness making an unexpected appearance, as if Tony had finally realized how long they’d been standing there staring at each other. “Man, today was just… jam packed, wasn’t it?”

Bucky didn’t protest as Tony released his grip and took a few steps away. He looked like he might need a minute, so Bucky dug his smokes out of his back pocket and held them up. Smiling gratefully, Tony pointed to a door, and Bucky nodded before heading into the bathroom.

Once inside, he flipped on the lights, closed the door, and stared at his reflection for a long moment. “What the fuck are you doing, Barnes?”

But there weren’t any answers to be found in his eyes.

After availing himself of the facilities and washing his hands, Bucky turned around to lean back against the counter, crossing his feet at the ankles as he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. He was reaching for the vent switch when Tony made a reappearance, almost smacking him in the nose with the door in the process. It hadn’t occurred to Bucky to lock it while he was inside.

“Oh good, I didn’t miss the smoking,” he said, snatching the cigarette from Bucky’s lips and placing it in his own mouth. He took a deep and profound drag, eyes narrowed as he watched Bucky watching him. “I figured it out while you were in here.”

“What’s that?” Bucky asked, taking the cigarette back for another drag.

“Since I got home, everyone looks at me like I’m crazy,” he explained, once again plucking the smoke right from Bucky’s lips. “Even Pepper. I had this profound experience, and it opened my eyes. I’m trying to set things right, be _accountable_ and fully fucking cognizant, and they act like… like I’m just in shock, or something, and that everything is going to go back to business as usual.”

“You won’t let that happen,” Bucky said confidently. He had a whole pack of cigarettes, could have lit another at any time, but there was something about seeing Tony bring it to his mouth right after Bucky’s lips had been on it that sent a thrill through his body.

“That right there,” Tony said, snapping his fingers in Bucky’s direction. He took another puff, then handed the cigarette back. “You don’t act like I’m crazy at all. And before, when I was talking about my project, and the stuff you said about… about wanting to know me.”

Bucky tapped ash into the sink. “Was there a question in there somewhere?”

“ _Why_?”

Tony was watching him warily, as if scared of the answer. “I don’t know _exactly_ ,” Bucky admitted, staring at his shoes. “I know what it’s like, coming back to… to what’s supposed to be _normal_ life, only to figure out there isn’t a place for you there anymore. It’s lonely, and it’s hard, and most days you wonder why you’re even bothering.” Tony made a soft, distressed noise, prompting Bucky to meet his eyes. “The people who love you mean well. Don’t love them any less, just can’t talk to them about what happened.”

“Feels like you need to protect them from it,” Tony added.

Bucky nodded. “The night I started the surveillance, from where I was standing it was like you and I were the only two people in the world. I knew right then that you were different a little bit like how I was different. It’s pathetic, but… it was just nice to not feel alone for a change. Even if it was a lie.”

“Nothing about you is pathetic,” Tony swore, before adding in a rambling mutter, “except your wardrobe, which we’re already fixing.” He watched carefully, making sure Bucky understood he was joking before moving on. “You’re the first person I’ve actually wanted to talk to in… fuck, feels like forever. Which is why you scare the shit out of me, Barnes. I mean, Obie’s known me since I was a kid—he was like a surrogate father to me—and he hired people to _kill me_. I’m clearly not the best judge of character.”

Bucky tipped his head in agreement, handing off the cigarette for Tony to finish.

“I know—I shouldn’t trust you, either.”

He watched as Tony flicked the cigarette butt into the toilet, his eyes averted. “Thank you. For, um, breaking protocol, but also… everything else.” Bucky watched the flutter of Tony’s pulse in his neck, surprised by the temptation to lean over and press his lips against the skin. As if sensing this, Tony chose that moment to meet his eyes again. “Thank you.”

Bucky held his gaze. “You’re welcome.”

Tony nodded, and as if just realizing he’d barged into the bathroom unannounced, laughed and headed for the door. “I’ll just give you some privacy. Have I mentioned I have issues with boundaries? That’s probably obvious. Right. I’ll just...”

“Was just going to have another, if you wanted to stick around.”

An almost childish delight washed over Tony’s face, his eyes going soft as he grinned, and shuffled back over to lean against the counter beside Bucky. This time they didn’t even talk, just passed the cigarette back and forth in companionable silence.

And when Bucky returned Tony’s shy smile, he was struck by the understanding that despite surviving endless hours of varying levels of torture, experimentation, and imprisonment without cracking, Tony Stark had managed to break him with a smile.


	7. Chapter 7

There should have been more talk of the forthcoming attempt on Tony’s life, but instead they’d spent the next six some hours in the workshop “doing science” as Tony called it. Apparently that involved loud music, and games of catch, specifically with the cybernetic arm.

True to his word, Tony had given a lengthy description of the motor skills tests he was going to perform, obtaining consent before proceeding to have Bucky strip to the waist again. Tony hadn’t quite explained what he was going to use the gathered data for, most of the shop still covered in tarps, but Bucky didn’t take it personally. If what he was doing was so important, Tony should be hesitant to share it with anyone, especially a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with an established tendency to break protocol.

But, as predicted, at some point the hours caught up, and Tony began falling asleep on his feet. Bucky wasn’t in much better shape. “You sleeping on the couch?” he asked after Tony all but fell onto it face first, an arm dangling over the edge.

The grunt he received seemed like answer enough, and so Bucky lowered himself to the cold concrete floor, wishing he’d held onto his jacket if only to use it as a pillow. He was lying there for five minutes or so before Tony lifted his head, and aimed a bleary eyed squint in his direction.

“That looks awful,” he muttered, pushing himself upright, a hand pressed to the side of his head. “Don’t say you’ve had worse. Even though it’s true, I’ll cry. Upstairs, let’s go. Mattresses and blankets and warmth.”

He said nothing when Tony leaned his sleep-heavy head against his shoulder during the elevator ride, and he managed to cope with the surreality of walking up the stairs with Tony and into his bedroom. The last time Tony had slept up here was also the last time Bucky had slept, headphones on, listening for Tony’s breathing as he lost the battle with sleep.

Tony pointed as they passed an open door. “That’s the room Jarvis prepared. We’ll get you clothes tomorrow. Who knows, Jarvis is omnipotent, he probably already got you some and set them out and everything. I’m in here.”

Bucky spared a glance for his room, then continued on after Tony, who didn’t notice he’d been followed. He’d stripped to his boxers and was in the process of taking off the two shirts he was wearing until he turned around and spotted Bucky. He let out a squeak of surprise, clutching the fabric to his chest. Bucky was powerless to look away, eyes drinking in the strong, muscled curves of Tony’s shoulders and biceps, and the dark trail of hair around his navel, which ended somewhere beneath Tony’s bright red boxer shorts.

“You’re serious about sleeping in here?”

Tony was still covering himself with the bunched up shirts. “You’ll be vulnerable in here on your own.”

“Really won’t,” he insisted. “Windows are locked, and…”

As if to make his point, Bucky leaned over and unlaced his boots enough to kick them off. “Got a spare pillow and blanket?”

“The whole point of coming up here was so that you wouldn’t be sleeping on a cold floor,” Tony pointed out. He turned so his back was facing Bucky, pulling the shirts back on hurriedly.

“Won’t be cold if I have a blanket.”

Tony stood with his hands on his hips, tapping his foot and glaring before realizing it wasn’t going to get him anywhere. “You know what? I’m actually too tired to argue. Will wonders never cease. The bed is huge, just get in here with me. You don’t snore, do you?”

Bucky watched Tony crawl into the bed, which was indeed spacious, but also a bad idea. “I… I have nightmares, sometimes.”

“Join the club. Our nightmares can hang out together while we sleep. Hit the lights.”

He stripped down to his own shorts before turning off the lights. That was the easy part. Bucky didn’t have any trouble finding the empty side of the bed in the dark, stood there, torn by what he wanted, and the sad reality of it all.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” Tony sounded like he’d asked the question through a pillow. Swallowing around his discomfort, Bucky sat on the edge, his back to Tony. “Lie down.”

“When I was staying with my friend Steve,” Bucky trailed off.

Behind him, he felt Tony shift. “What is it?”

The genuine concern was what did it. That and the darkness. “I can’t sleep without a weapon nearby. Peggy—Steve’s gal—went to wake me up one morning. I almost hurt her.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

He hissed his displeasure. “Not funny, Tony.”

Through the darkness, Tony reached out and poked him in the side. “Wasn’t kidding. Leave the knife on the nightstand, and I won’t shake you awake in the morning. You’ll probably be up before me anyway.”

“Tony…”

The bed shook under the weight of Tony’s shifting body, until he felt hands wrap around the metal of his arm, tugging. “Hey, come on. This is different. You’ll be fine, trust me.”

Heart racing, Bucky allowed himself to be pulled down, stretching out and sighing despite himself. He was exhausted, and the bed was without a doubt the most comfortable he’d ever been in, fit for a hedonist. Bucky hardly had his head on the pillow before Tony was pulling the blankets over him, the warmth welcome, and indulgent.

It was pure, blissful sensory overload. The soft, silky texture of the bed linens. The way he sank into the mattress and pillows while still feeling supported. Worse, everything smelled faintly of Tony, who was still holding onto his arm. He could feel the brush of Tony’s thumb against the seam of his elbow, and it was all too much and not enough.

Whatever it was they were doing together, it was dangerous. Tony had no idea who it was he was sleeping beside, what Bucky was capable of. Or the _thoughts_ running through his head. Beneath the sheets, his cock was straining against the front of his boxers, pulsing as more and more blood pumped south.

Аппети́т прихо́дит во вре́мя еды́.[5] Tony had reawakened something inside of him, and now it was running through his system like wildfire, consuming everything in its path. Bucky should have been mortified, but instead he welcomed the invasion, wanted the destruction.

Wanted to roll over, pin Tony beneath him, and crush their mouths together. He could easily come from that alone, just rock himself against Tony’s hip while kissing him, tasting him. Would Tony’s beard feel soft, or scratchy against his skin? Would he still taste like coffee, and cigarettes? Would he gasp at the touch of Bucky’s tongue, tremble beneath him as he let Bucky take, and take?

Or would Tony be more the type to push back against him hungrily, turn the tables, shove Bucky onto his back and climb on top? He could see that being the case, could easily imagine grasping at Tony’s hips and ass while rutting up against him.

Bucky’s cock throbbed dangerously as he tried to imagine the feeling of Tony’s weight on top of him, failing. There was no way this erection was going anywhere without assistance. He swallowed, holding his breath as Tony’s hand tightened around his arm. It wasn’t intentional. He made a soft noise as he lost the battle with sleep, unaware that his fingers were twitching and clenching around Bucky’s bicep.

Of course, because of this there was no way to extract himself from the bed without disturbing Tony, which had likely been the point in the first place. Tony wanted him to stay put, and this was his way of ensuring Bucky didn’t bolt as soon as he thought the coast was clear.

Because of the proximity, there was also no way he was going to allow himself to slide a hand into his shorts, no matter how much he ached. And oh, did he _ache_. Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so hard, so desperate to wrap a fist around his cock.

Tony was the reason, there was no pretending otherwise.

They were in bed together, close enough to feel the heat from his body. Tony had his hand on him, and so naturally Bucky’s brain betrayed him with a fantasy in which that hand slipped from his arm, fingers dragging across his chest, before beginning their descent. Tony’s hand would be warm against his stomach. Nimble, calloused fingertips slipping down beneath the waistband of his shorts. In his mind, Tony made a soft, almost hungry noise of surprise and appreciation when he encountered Bucky’s hardon, brushing his fingers around and across the head of his cock. He shuddered at the imagined sensation of Tony’s thumb rubbing around and around the head of his dick, spreading and gathering the moisture there before bringing the thumb back to his own lips.

Fuck, he needed to stop, because it was all so _vivid_. He was hard enough that he was dribbling pre-come onto himself at the thought of Tony’s lips wrapping around his thumb, tasting Bucky there. Every last nerve ending in his body was tingling, gathering data, seemingly sending it to his dick whether he wanted it or not. It would only take a few strokes, maybe not even that. Just a touch, and he would tip over the edge. Not even a touch, maybe…

Bucky bit back a moan and dug his fingernails into his palm, fighting the mental image of Tony exhaling over the head of his cock, mouth so close that the tiniest of thrusts would push him up against Tony’s plush lips. He turned his head on the pillow, his eyes having adjusted to the darkness enough that he could make out Tony’s sleeping profile. His mouth was slack, eyes twitching beneath their lids, lost to REM sleep.

In that moment, Tony was beautiful. Not just handsome, or attractive— _beautiful_. Without intending to, Bucky’s hips twitched, the palest imitation of a thrust, which in turn rubbed the head of his cock against the fabric of his shorts. With that he was coming whether he wanted to or not, eyes and mouth wide open in shock, watching Tony’s sleeping face as he pulsed again and again, shorts quickly soaked and sticking to him uncomfortably.

He felt like his entire body was on fire, couldn’t quite catch his breath, wasn’t sure what to do about what had just happened. Tony moaned softly in his sleep, his trusting, vulnerable face giving no indication that he knew what had taken place beside him. Bucky knew he should feel guilty, or embarrassed—to some extent he did—but mostly he felt content. Which was fucked up, he knew it was fucked up, but it was still the truth.

Without a doubt, it was the closest he’d felt to another living, breathing, human being in _years_. After returning home, Bucky had assumed the fact that he was no longer physically or romantically attracted to Steve meant the KGB had left him damaged beyond repair. He’d written off the notion of intimacy, had resigned himself to a solitary existence, and yet…

If some higher power had been in the mood for meddling in the affairs of humanity, Bucky would have gladly given up his arm all over again for Tony to open his eyes, lean closer, and kiss him. Those weren’t the thoughts or desires of someone dead inside, not by a longshot. He was alive. Vibrantly, miraculously _alive_. Even if Tony never returned his affections, he would still have this moment, this realization, the feelings churning away inside of his chest, threatening to overwhelm him.

But once you stopped fighting, it was almost peaceful.

Carefully, he plucked at his shorts, struggling not to laugh at himself. He couldn’t exactly get out of the bed and do anything about the mess, which meant the morning would suck. Hopefully Tony wouldn’t notice anything. He did feel a bit bad, since Tony had trusted him enough to sleep beside him. Of course, he hadn’t exactly planned to come in his pants, but still. Respecting Tony and his trust was important to him, so Bucky vowed this would be the one and only time he came in Tony’s bed.

With a sigh, Bucky checked the position of his knife, then let the lingering euphoria and post-orgasm sleepiness take over, pulling him down into the dark, as if he was sinking deeper and deeper into the mattress, drunk on the scent of Tony.

* * *

  1. The appetite comes with eating. ↑




	8. Chapter 8

Miraculously, there were no dreams. He woke with the sun on his face feeling rested and alert, eyes flying open at the feeling of movement beside him. Tony had shifted during his sleep, was on his back with his head turned in Bucky’s direction, arms and legs sprawled out. The shirts he’d worn to bed were rucked up, and he’d managed to kick the blankets down enough that Bucky could see the pale skin of his stomach.

Tony made a soft sound in his sleep, and Bucky dragged his eyes away. It had been less than twenty-four hours since his promise to respect Tony and here he was, morning erection demanding his attention as he watched Tony’s stomach rise and fall, breathing deep and even in his sleep. So, even though the bed felt divine and he would have enjoyed staying put, Bucky climbed out as carefully as possible, snagging his pants off the floor on the way to the bathroom.

Like everything in the house, it was large, and luxurious to the point of intimidation. Bucky eyed the fluffy towels as he emptied his bladder, wondering what he should do about his shorts, which were in desperate need of washing.

As was he.

The first few minutes of his shower was dedicated to getting the dried semen off of himself, but then he let his head tip back and just enjoyed the sensation of hot water massaging his skin. The shower at the loft had next to no water pressure, and only about five minutes of hot water on a good day. Tony’s shower was heaven by comparison.

Bucky helped himself to Tony’s soap, lathering up before taking himself in hand. It would be stupid to not take advantage of his momentary privacy. The way his body was reacting, he was worried what might happen if he didn’t jerk off. Neither of them would feel comfortable if Bucky got a hardon during one of Tony’s experiments.

Not wasting any time, he sped up the movement of his hand, reveling in the slickness of the sensation as he fucked his fist, one hand braced against the wall of the shower, head dipped low as the water ran down over his head and shoulders. Behind his closed eyes, Tony was sprawled out on the bed, the blankets shoved down further, smiling and crooking a finger, asking Bucky to join him.

“Guess that answers my question about getting the arm wet.”

Bucky’s eyes flew open as he released himself, erection bobbing wetly as his heart tried to punch out through his chest. “Tony?”

“Sorry, had to take a piss and you were in my bathroom. You have your own next door, you know, could have gone in there.”

Despite himself, Bucky snorted. “Same goes for you.”

“Good point.” Tony cleared his throat. “Well, too late, I’m here now. No peeking.”

Bucky bit down into his lower lip, frowning at his dick. The interruption hadn’t bothered his libido in the least. If anything, it’d been inspired by Tony’s proximity.

“Hey, wanna hear something nuts? I’m pretty sure while I was sleeping I managed to solve my issue with the… with my project. The super secret one. Which, uh, means I’m probably going to spend the next twenty hours working.”

Eyes squeezed shut, Bucky tried to psych himself up to switch all of the water over to cold.

“Okay.”

The toilet flushed, and Tony kept talking while washing his hands. “So, I’m assuming you’ll be along for the ride. Not sure if there are things you needed to take care of today, like with Coulson, or… you know, the whole plot to murder me.”

Well, that was one way to get rid of an erection. Despite the warmth of the water, Bucky shivered at the unexpected reminder of why he was in Tony’s life in the first place. With a sigh, he turned off the water, and pulled back the shower curtain enough to pop his head out.

Tony was standing right there, his hair sticking up all crazy, still a little bleary eyed, but unexpectedly adorable. He was scratching the back of his head absently while blinking at Bucky. “Speaking of which, you didn’t murder me in my sleep, so looks like I was right.”

“Towel. Did you sleep okay?”

Bucky watched Tony pivot lazily to snag a nearby towel, holding it out dutifully, only to pull it back at the last second when Bucky reached for it. “Suspiciously well, actually. I’m thinking that’s your fault. Did you, um, nightmares or anything? Have any?”

This time he let Bucky grab the towel, leaning a bit as if to peer around the shower curtain when Bucky took it from his hand. “No nightmares,” he admitted, toweling himself off quickly before cinching the towel around his waist. Hearing Tony’s breathing, being in the bed beside him had been the best night of sleep he’d had since childhood, if he was being honest. “It was peaceful for a change.”

“Cool, uh, glad that worked out for…” Bucky pulled back the shower curtain and Tony jumped guiltily, wide eyed and owlish. “Good morning.” He continued to stand as if rooted to the spot, his eyes darting around as he tried to decide where he should be looking.

Unable to suppress his smile, Bucky held onto the towel as he stepped out of the tub, walking around Tony in order to grab his pants. Towel still in place, he turned his back to Tony and stepped into them, began sliding them up his legs, letting the towel fall to the floor as he worked them up and over his hips. He took a second to adjust himself, then zipped up as he turned back to Tony.

“Coulson should be able to rendezvous here. If you need me to, I can stay just outside of the room while you’re working.”

“Yeah, uh, okay.” Tony had grabbed Bucky’s towel off the floor and was holding it in front of himself, looking nervous, although he’d tried to make his posture as casual as possible. “I mean, you don’t have to do that, you can come, ah, inside. Inside the workshop, I mean. To _watch_ me.” Tony’s expression had been growing increasingly distressed as he continued speaking. “Where I will be working, in the workshop. On the project. Okay, I’m going to take a shower. If you really want to keep me alive, you’ll scrounge up some coffee for us.”

“Sounds good.”

Bucky spotted his ruined boxers and made a grab for them before leaving the room. The door closed behind him almost immediately, the sound of the lock engaging making him frown until something occurred to him. The little flush in Tony’s face that he’d assumed was from the steam of the bathroom. The way he’d held the towel in front of himself, and couldn’t seem to keep his eyes still.

Tony was acting as if he was, perhaps, dealing with some unexpected physical attraction of his own. Which was insane, because he was _Tony Stark_. Playboy Tony Stark, never seen with the same date twice. But… that was the magical made up world of the media. According to the same sources, Tony getting out of weapons production was all a ruse in order to buy up more company stock while it was at an all time low.

So few people had access to the Tony he knew and cared for. That man had pulled Bucky into bed with him, then went out of his way to pay a visit when he knew Bucky was showering. His pupils had been blown wide, and he hadn’t been able to stop worrying at his lower lip with his teeth while stammering about working in the shop.

Was it possible that at that very moment, Tony was in the shower picking up where Bucky had left off? Just the idea of it had him hard again. Bucky rushed back over to the bed, fumbling with his pants in order to get his hand on his dick before he missed his window of opportunity. Yes, technically it was breaking his promise, but Tony wasn’t in the bed with him this time. No, Tony was in the shower, naked, _wet_ , water running down over his body as he stroked himself. Did he like to take it slow, tease it out, or was he jackhammering his fist, desperate to come, wondering if Bucky had figured out why he was suddenly so keen for a shower.

Bucky felt his thighs tremble as he imagined being back in the shower, stroking himself, only for Tony to pull aside the shower curtain, and catch him at it. A soft, desperate noise escaped despite his best intentions, and he fumbled for his boxer shorts. In his imagination, Tony stepped into the shower with him, pressed himself up against Bucky’s back, and began rocking himself against the wet curve of Bucky’s ass, reaching around, taking Bucky in hand, and… and...

He had just enough brainpower left to use the already sullied boxers to catch his release before he was gasping up at Tony’s ceiling, feeling dizzy with relief. He took a moment, caught his breath, then tucked himself away, checking to make sure he hadn’t managed to make a mess.

Once he found the hamper, Bucky shoved his shorts to the bottom, then went and grabbed his button up shirt. By the time he was downstairs and walking into the kitchen, reality had caught up with him. Tony might be lonely enough to consider Bucky a friend, but getting his hopes up about anything else was only setting himself up for a fall.

He’d used up all his luck surviving the fall into the ravine; doubted he had enough left to survive Tony as it was without hoping for more than friendship.

“Good morning, sir.”

Bucky nodded, feeling guilty, as if Jarvis could look into his mind and see what he had been thinking. “Morning. Tony asked for coffee.”

“Of course. I keep a pot on whenever Mr. Stark is at home.”

Jarvis showed him where the extra large mugs were, the two of them sharing a companionable silence as Bucky poured out the steaming coffee.

“Might I inquire as to where you were stationed prior to your current assignment?”

“I was a very special, long term guest of the Комите́т госуда́рственной безопа́сности,” he answered evenly, watching the steam roll off of the surface of the coffee. He glanced over his shoulder, added, “the KBG,” for clarification.

Jarvis’s eyes narrowed. “I see.”

Bucky had a feeling Jarvis wasn’t just saying that. The way he was being studied left him with an odd, exposed sensation. His body responded all on its own by straightening his posture, coming to attention as he had done with his guards and handlers, so as to allow himself to be inspected.

Perhaps Jarvis saw some of that as well, because his expression immediately softened around the edges. Bucky met his eyes. “I won’t hurt him.”

“See that you don’t,” was all Jarvis said.

The silence was slightly less comfortable this time around, but not quite tense enough for Tony to notice anything was amiss when he strolled into the kitchen, a spring in his step. “J, would you be able to sort out some clothes and toiletries and shit for Bucky? Casual, formal, the whole kit and kaboodle.”

“Formal?”

Tony grinned up at him around his mug while taking a loud sip, standing close enough that their shoulders brushed. Jarvis looked between the two of them, his eyes narrowing again, as he gave Bucky a pointed stare.

“Yeah, well, can’t have you looking like a slob when following me around in public. Come on, man like me? Gotta have standards for my shadow, Buck, keep up.”

Tony was all bright eyes, and open, playful smile, beaming up at Bucky in a way a man absolutely should _not_ the morning after learning a family friend had put a hit out on him. Which was probably the reason why Jarvis had come to the conclusion that the two of them had slept together, which would explain why he was currently stabbing Bucky with the forcefulness of his gaze.

“Of course, sir.”

Bucky wanted to take Jarvis aside, let him know he’d got it wrong, but there was no way to do that with Tony in the room.

“I’ll be wearing a tactical holster when we’re in public,” he said instead, ever practical. “Couple knives, too.”

“Our tailor is used to making special accommodations,” Jarvis assured him.

 

“Do you need to put a bust of Homer in the window to signal Coulson, or do you guys use phones at all?”

Despite himself, Bucky smiled at this, unable to resist the sparkle in Tony’s eye, or the cheeky grin he was hiding behind his mug. “You don’t signal Coulson,” he explained, “he just appears whenever and wherever he’s needed most.”

Tony laughed, his shoulder bumping against Bucky’s again. “Is it true his first name is Agent?”

“Who told you that?” Bucky asked, raising his voice and wearing his very best serious expression. For a split second, Tony froze, but then he realized Bucky was fucking with him and burst out laughing.

“Sounds like Agent Agent will be materializing at some point, Jarvis. Give a heads up and we’ll take a break. Otherwise, we’ll be working.” Tony refilled his mug as he spoke, the caffeine perking his already perky mood. “I sense a breakthrough of epic proportions,” he announced, sweeping out of the room, leaving Bucky to follow.

He glanced over his shoulder, found Jarvis was still glaring, and rushed after Tony.

“Was Jarvis military?” he asked as he stepped into the elevator.

“Yeah, he’s a secret badass,” Tony answered easily, foot tapping away. “Do you like The Clash at all?”

Bucky frowned. “A clash of what?”

Tony’s eyes went wide and he made an exaggerated noise of surprise. “Holy shit, yes, sorry, you would’ve missed the whole UK punk _explosion_ ,” Tony explained, actually vibrating with excitement. “This is amazing. This is Christmas and a birthday orgy all rolled into one. I have so much to show you, my friend.”

Which wasn’t in any way an exaggeration. The punk music quickly became secondary, the rough vocals and aggressive guitars seemingly out of step with the merry way in which Tony all but danced around his workshop, yanking aside tarp after tarp. Bucky gawped, trying to process what it was he was seeing, because it looked a lot like Tony had built a man made of metal.

“What the fuck?” Bucky gasped, eyes going wide.

Tony gestured to several different sections. “So, uh, it’s actually a motorized, flying suit of armor,” he explained, looking to Bucky as if to gauge his reaction. “I’ve been having some trouble with the mobility, specifically at the joints—the original was _way_ worse, don’t get me wrong—but after sleeping on what we did yesterday, it occurs to me that… Buck, you okay?”

“Is it alive?”

“No, sweetie-pie, it’s _armor_ ,” he gestured to himself. “I get inside, fly around, be a total badass. This is how I escaped. Well, not _this_ , specifically, that suit was destroyed, but you get my gist. I feel very much like I lost you somewhere along the way.”

Bucky had stalked closer, was taking it all in. “Why’s there an opening at the center here?” He turned to look over his shoulder, surprised to see the amusement was suddenly absent from Tony’s face. Working on its own accord, his mind put two and two together. “Tony, what did they do to your chest?”

“How do you… What are you talking about?”

Stepping away from the armor, Bucky stood with his arms at his sides, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. “You keep touching it. And last night, it seemed like you were covering something up.”

Tony was shaking his head, mouth scrunched up.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Bucky reminded him, keeping his voice calm and even. “I’m still happy to go out in the hallway while you work.”

But to his surprise, Tony shook his head again, giving Bucky a small, sad smile before he set down his coffee, and tugged his shirt up to expose his chest, while in the background a man with an English accent sang about someone being hateful.

Dead center in Tony’s chest was a glowing hunk of metal. In many ways it was beautiful, even though it very obviously didn’t belong there, and therefore was shocking. Bucky’s left fist clenched reflexively, sympathetic pain tingling down through the nerves of the arm as he found himself drawn closer, needing to better wrap his mind around what he was seeing.

“What’s it do?”

“Keeps me alive,” Tony explained flatly. Bucky glanced up, met his eyes, then couldn’t look away. “You know how it goes, some shrapnel and a heart fall in love, and only a magnet can keep them apart. Heard it a thousand times.”

They each jumped at the sound of his metal fingers making contact with the face of the device in Tony’s chest. “Sorry.” Bucky went to pull his hand away, but Tony grabbed it and held it in place.

“Hey, no wonder I only feel comfortable around a guy with a metal arm. Makes a bit more sense now, right?”

Bucky lowered his eyes, captivated by the blue glow. “It’s a beautiful way to stay alive.”

“Your arm’s beautiful,” Tony insisted quietly.

“I could do without the red star.”

Tony snorted at this, some of the seriousness easing out of his expression. “So, that’s, um, kind of a huge secret I’m trusting you with there. Pop the reactor out, and before too long I go into cardiac arrest.”

Despite wanting to do otherwise, Bucky tugged down Tony’s shirt, smoothing the fabric over the lump in his chest, pressing his palm against it once more. “Don't ever show them, Tony," he whispered, staring down into his eyes. "Keep it safe."

“Yeah, that’s kind of the plan.” Tony nodded, looking down at their hands, shrugging a shoulder. "Pretty crazy, huh?"

"Amazing. What’re the odds, do you think? Both of us surviving what happened. Meeting each other.”

“One in one hundred and seventy five million, give or take,” Tony took a step back, shifting uncomfortably, his breathing having picked up. “Sorry, the whole reality of having told you all of this is sort of freaking me out at the moment.” Tony did indeed look like he might start hyperventilating, hands sinking into his hair as he spun in a half circle. “Rhodey hasn’t even seen this shit yet, and he’s known me since I was a kid.”

Bucky sidestepped, trying to get Tony to make eye contact with him. "What can I do?"

Tony shook his head and folded his arms across his chest, a bit of a wobble in his chin before he locked it down. "Nothing. It's done. I mean, not betraying me would be pretty great, obviously, but otherwise." He exhaled shakily. "Fuck it. I need to work, so I'm going to do that now. Make yourself at home."

Tony brushed past him, head ducked down as he stalked over to the armor, cranking the music on the way. Bucky studied the stiffness in his shoulders, the agitation evident in his movements, and felt his chest constrict with sympathy. Tony had been hurt over the years, even before his captivity, that much was evident. He could make all the promises he liked, but actions would always speak louder than words. Tony just needed to be shown his trust hadn't been misplaced, which would be easy, considering the last thing Bucky wanted to do was hurt Tony.

Bucky settled down on the couch to watch, letting his eyes lose focus as he began composing a letter to Steve, writing it in his mind like he'd done in Siberia since he didn't have paper or pencil.

_Dear Steve, Here I am, on the other side of the looking glass..._


	9. Chapter 9

Bucky tried to get his eyes to focus, but it was a lost cause. Between the snow, the blows to the head, and the blood in his eyes, he was lucky he could see anything at all.

He could just make out the wheeze of his breathing over the sound of the wind, and wondered why he wasn't colder. Whatever they'd injected him with this time had his blood boiling, so that he was sweating and shaking, but not cold.

The last time they’d done this he’d been doused in water before they’d dragged him out into the snow to fight for his life. He’d never understood how cold a person could be, the clothes freezing to him almost instantly, each gush of warm blood from his opponents a gift and a curse. The warmth was fleeting; the blood froze too quickly.

That time he had felt the cold, still had no idea how he’d survived losing parts of himself to frostbite. This time he was dressed, although the uniform wasn’t nearly heavy enough to be responsible for the warmth he was feeling.

He’d long since stopped caring whether or not they’d intervene if one of his opponents actually got the upper hand during one of these tests. Bucky had his suspicions as far as the other test subjects went, as in they weren’t particularly successful. Tortuous and miserable as his existence was, he still recognized that he was considered valuable, and received special treatment as a result. Three to four times the rations of the other prisoners, clean water, a winter weight uniform and boots, a blanket, occasionally even medical treatment following the messier experiments.

A noise to his left had him spinning instinctually, arm flashing out to grab hold of a throat, choking off a scream. Bucky bared his teeth as he squeezed, feeling very disconnected from the entire affair. It was like fighting in a dream, his eyes losing focus again while the snow and wind stung his cheeks.

If he'd been able to gather his wits, he would have been alarmed to see the others, what looked to be seven broken bodies in the snow. Deep reds faded to pink depending on the level of blood saturation. It was almost pretty.

He came back to himself as hands clawed at his arm, reaching desperately for his face, a frenzied struggle to stay alive. If Bucky could have gotten his mouth to work, he'd have suggested the man not bother. Even the living were dead in this place.

A loud shot rang out, getting his attention even as he crushed his attacker's windpipe. He felt the impact as a bullet slammed through the body he was holding. It continued on its course of destruction, punching through the dead man and penetrating the lightweight body armor he’d been given, thankfully continuing out through the other side. Immediately, hot blood began to flow from the gut shot, down his side and into his pants.

_Sniper._

Bucky took off running, zig zagging as there was no cover, hoping the shitty visibility would work to his advantage. It hurt, but everything always hurt, so he ignored the pain. Based on the trajectory, tracking down the sniper wasn’t as difficult as one might imagine. He was in a hide on the ground, and Bucky managed to circle behind him, yanking him out by his feet before he could get off another shot. He swung hard with his left fist, breaking the man’s jaw before pouncing onto the groaning figure, knife already in his right hand. Using as much force as possible, he brought the knife down again and again, taking a grim satisfaction with each impact of the blade, a flurry of punctures at crucial junctures, so that blood pumped chaotically from the sniper, spraying up into his face.

A siren wailed fitfully, and he jumped to his feet, dropping his knife as he stood at attention, chest heaving. He could still feel the blood dribbling from his gut wound, but it had slowed down at least. They’d deal with it when they wanted, how they wanted, so there was no point in worrying about it.

In a matter of moments, he was surrounded by armed guards and his handlers, and dropped to his knees in the snow, hands behind his head, as per usual.

"Take him inside. I want a full report."

Bucky blinked slowly, blood frozen to his eyelashes, following dutifully as his handlers headed for the facility. His vision swam before him as they stepped over one of Bucky's victims, then came into focus at the last possible moment. Blond hair, vacant blue eyes, the body already freezing, and Bucky's heart seized painfully in his chest because that looked like _Steve_.

In the memory that was a dream, he lost control, the idea that they’d somehow captured Steve, made him _kill Steve_ breaking through where physical pain could not. Bucky ran back to the body, needing to know, desperate to be wrong, screaming his protest as one of his handlers shot him with tranquilizers, and then again and again but he had to know...

Bucky woke to the sound of his own screaming, jerking into wakefulness, confused, disoriented, until he heard, "Hey, whoa, Bucky? You okay?” Tony was standing nearby, Bucky’s now emptied mug in his hand, watching Bucky as if worried his head might spin all the way around. He smiled once Bucky was able to maintain eye contact. “There you are. It’s okay, we’re safe. We’re down in the workshop. Welcome back."

The words sank in, helping him ground himself, giving the calm something to dig its roots into. Tony took a hesitant step forward, while Bucky reminded himself that Siberia was far, far away.

“Did you dump cold coffee on me?"

His voice sounded hoarse, and he swallowed around the lump in his throat, shaking but not mad, just relieved to not be back in the gulag.

"Okay, in my defense, you were screaming in Russian and thrashing around, and calling your name didn’t work. I remembered what you said about Peggy, so I didn’t exactly want to shake you awake, but thought you might like to wake up from whatever that was. Look, it worked."

Bucky hunched over, head in his hands, and took a shaky breath. He could feel the coffee trickling down under his shirt, shivered, reminded of blood and snow. He felt very much like crying, felt the first hitch in his breathing. Making a soft, wounded noise, Bucky got his feet under him and headed for the bathroom to wash his face and have a smoke. Tony trailed after him, quiet, watching, but that was fine.

"Sorry," he croaked after splashing some water on his face. He worked the towel down his neck before giving up on being dry. The shirt was soaked and clinging to him, the only consolation being he took his coffee black.

"Don't apologize for that," Tony said softly.

In the mirror, Bucky watched as Tony reached out, his hand hovering indecisively for a moment before he let it rest against Bucky's back. When Bucky didn't flinch or brush the touch away, Tony began moving his hand back and forth, slow, comforting strokes between his shoulder blades. Bucky let his eyes fall closed, focussing on the warmth of Tony's hand as the tension slowly left his body.

"Nightmares suck."

Despite himself, Bucky laughed, shoulders shaking under Tony's hand. "Yeah. This was, um, more a memory. Of a training exercise, actually."

Tony's hand stilled, but he didn't pull away. "Training? For what?"

Bucky nodded and straightened up as he fished his cigarettes out of his pocket, hands surprisingly steady when he went to light one. "Guessing the file they gave you on me was pretty slim?"

"Mostly it was about the arm. You were sort of secondary."

Sadly, Tony took his hand away as he watched Bucky take a drag off of his cigarette, his expression apologetic, as if it was his fault that S.H.I.E.L.D. had held onto information. Well, what information they had, anyway. It wasn’t like they had access to his KGB files, and Bucky had only been so forthcoming about his experiences.

“This wouldn’t have been in it anyway.”

Sniffing, Bucky offered Tony the cigarette, but he waved it away, so Bucky took another long pull, blowing the smoke up toward the vent, watching it get sucked from the room.

“The Soviets were trying to make a super solider,” he said, surprised to hear the words leaving his mouth. Beside him, Tony tensed up, his eyes going wide. “As far as I know, I’m the only surviving test subject.”

“Holy shit.”

Bucky blinked slowly, his vision clearing as the lingering tears broke free. He wiped at them absently as he turned to face Tony. “They did so many tests, I can’t even remember them all. That’s probably a good thing. This… this must have been later on. Live ammo was in play, multiple opponents.”

Tucking his cigarette into the corner of his mouth, Bucky popped open the buttons of his damp shirt and turned, pointing to the scar the sniper’s bullet had left behind on his right flank. “Souvenir,” he explained, taking a hands free puff. While Tony was still staring, Bucky pivoted, holding the fabric up so Tony could see the corresponding exit wound.

With a shaking hand, Tony snatched the cigarette from Bucky’s mouth, apparently deciding that he needed a smoke after all. “Weren’t they worried you’d grab a weapon, use it on them?”

Bucky shrugged as he let go of his shirt, settling back against the countertop. “The gulag was in the middle of nowhere, even by Siberian standards. It was -32°C, I was wearing a lightweight uniform. No supplies, no allies. Didn’t matter if I killed a guard or two, they’d just send a team out to collect me, and I’d be _disciplined_.”

He slid the bionic hand beneath his shirt, covering the scar as if to apply pressure to a wound that was no longer there. “I started off fighting other prisoners. Eventually it was highly trained soldiers in increasingly extreme situations. After, they’d examine me, question me, decide whether or not to treat my wounds. Sometimes I was drugged, or wounded beforehand.”

“Fuck.”

“The memory I was dreaming about… I’d been injected with something to counteract the cold. Then they had me kneel in the snow while a couple of the guards took turns cracking me in the head with the butt of their rifles before heading into the observation tower. Five minutes later, they sent out my opponents.”

Bucky considered asking for his cigarette back, but Tony seemed to need it more than he did at the moment. He was all but holding his breath as he listened, his mouth pressed into a thin line, his body vibrating with tension.

“Eight soldiers in total, all armed, one of them a sniper hanging back to see how it all played out.” Bucky pressed his thumb against where the bullet had entered his body, smiling despite himself. “They’d given me a knife. Wasn’t really fair odds.”

“Not so much, no.” He could hear Tony swallow, and without thinking reached out to squeeze his shoulder, offering comfort.

“Unfair to them,” Bucky clarified, his voice low, remorseful. “I killed them all.”

[ ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4721240)   
Winter Soldier Memory by [InnerCinema](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4721240)

Somehow, Tony’s eyes widened more, but he didn’t seem disgusted. He’d taken a step or two closer, actually, and when he spoke his voice was low, almost conspiratorial.  “S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t know anything about the supersoldier program.”

Bucky shook his head, appreciative of Tony’s intuitive leap. He hadn’t even bothered to make it a question. “If they did, I’d be in a military facility somewhere undergoing a whole new wave of tests, or on a dissection table.”

To his surprise, Tony grabbed a handful of shirt, gave a little shake. He looked almost as if he wanted to hug Bucky, but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it, which was probably for the best. Bucky wasn’t sure how he would be able to make himself let go once he had Tony in his arms.

“I won’t say anything,” Tony promised, and it occurred to Bucky that the relief he saw on the other man’s face might have something to do with the secrets Bucky was currently keeping for him. Maybe it balanced the books some in Tony’s mind.

“Thanks.”

Tony nodded, and gave a little hiss as the cigarette he’d been holding in his other hand burned down to his fingers. He flicked it into the toilet, sucked on his fingertips, and watched Bucky. “M’betting Jarvis scrounged up some clothes by now.”

“Dry shirt _would_ be nice.”

Bucky watched Tony as they headed back into the workshop, his heart aching a little. It was strange, talking to someone about what had happened to him. Left him feeling lighter in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Hey, Tony?”

“Mm?”

“Thanks for, ah, waking me up. Listening.”

The smile Tony shared with him was sad, but then again, so was life. Bucky was willing to bet Tony had some stories of his own he might want to share one day, assuming Bucky was still around to listen. He hoped he would be.

“You can repay me by bringing back coffee,” Tony answered, heading back over to the armor.

Bucky watched him for a moment before heading back upstairs, an odd calm settling over him on the way up. It was immediately dispatched when the doors opened to reveal Hawkeye. He was sitting on a chair in the foyer, balancing it on the back legs, mid-blow with a wad of pink bubblegum. The gum popped loudly as it burst, making Bucky jump, which in turn made Clint grin.

“Hawkeye.”

“Winter.”

“Thought Coulson was coming.”

Hawkeye tipped the chair back onto four legs while simultaneously standing up, the fluidity of the motion enviable. “Thought you were _working_ ,” Barton countered, making a point of eyeballing Bucky’s unbuttoned shirt while arching an eyebrow.

To his horror, he felt himself actually blush, which was the worst possible way in which his body could betray him at the moment. “It’s not like that.”

Clint’s eyes widened, his mouth falling open enough for Bucky to see the gum before he snapped it shut and started chewing again. “I see.”

Which was the problem. Hawkeye, the absolute bastard, saw _everything_. It was one of the reasons why he was Coulson’s favorite. Bucky considered attempting to clarify, but instead he tugged his shirt off the rest of the way and gave it a twist over a nearby vase, so that the expelled coffee tinted the water brown. It would probably get him into deeper shit with Jarvis, but Clint snorted, nodded, and rolled his eyes.

“Gotcha. Dude’s a menace when he’s drunk or distracted. I once watched him start a swimsuit model avalanche, which is even hotter than it sounds.”

Clint had picked up on Bucky’s interest in Tony, but at least he wasn’t going to report back to Coulson that he’d interrupted a little afternoon delight between the two men. Currently he seemed more interested in Bucky’s arm.

“Congrats on getting your bitchin’ arm back. Surprised Stark gave it up, thought he’d be sleeping with the thing the way he got all giddy when I dropped it off.”

“Agent Barnes.” Jarvis must have heard the conversation and decided to investigate, and the frown over a shirtless Bucky standing in his foyer was beyond description. “You’ll find some fresh wardrobe options have been made available to you in your room, if you’d care to change.”

“Thanks.”

Bucky gave a nod toward the staircase, and Clint fell into step beside him after grabbing a beat up looking brown paper bag from beside the chair. “Got your sidearm and holster for you while I was at the loft. Thought you might want them.”

He forked over the bag as they reached the second floor. Bucky nodded his thanks, glad he hadn’t left anything personal behind during his exodus. Other than some clothes, the picture of him and Steve, and his disguises, it was nothing but basic supplies and the equipment.

“Thanks. They keeping that in play while I’m babysitting?”

Hawkeye blew another bubble, popped it loudly, and snorted. “ _Rum_ low. If someone starts shooting at you from that general direction, it means he got bored.”

Bucky set his gun on the dresser, and began digging through what Jarvis had obtained, which apparently was more clothing than he could ever possibly wear. He grabbed a plain gray t-shirt, a pair of jeans, underwear, socks, and stripped down, not bothering with modesty. Clint wouldn’t care, and Bucky wasn’t attracted to him, so it was a non-issue.

“Coulson’s indisposed, so consider me your cut-out[6] for this op,” Clint said, flopping onto the bed and bouncing a few times. “Stark has secure lines up in this joint, only use those when reporting. Only people you’re authorized to speak to are me, Coulson, and Fury. Pierce might reach out, but Fury wants to handle him, so keep quiet if that happens, but give me a heads up. Tell Stark to do the same.”

“Pierce? Why’s OSD[7] involved?”

Clint fished a notepad out of his inside pocket, grinning up at Bucky. “Pierce sided with Stark on the whole assigning you to protect him debate. They wanna keep him safe,“ he explained, watching Bucky with a deceptive level of disinterest in his eyes, “like it’s gonna change his mind about making the guns that go boom.”

Bucky took the notepad, flipping through it while memorizing the codes as he went. When he was done, he handed it back, Clint ran them through some call and response to make sure he’d gotten it down, then tucked the pad away.

“Typical check-in schedule, need immediate notification for anything extra special, and give me a fucking heads up if you’re leaving the roost? I wanna watch your back when you’re in the open.”

“Yes, sir.”

“ _Sir_? Ew, don’t be creepy.” Clint bounced back to his feet, bent over backwards in a stretch, then tipped an imaginary hat at Bucky. “And don’t fuck up, either. Stark’s a pain in the ass, but he’s good people.”

Bucky nodded his agreement, and moved to head downstairs. “Thanks, Hawkeye.”

“Hey,” Clint grabbed his arm, held on tight, “not to rain on your parade or anything, but people like Stark don’t want people like us for the long term. We’re exotic and interesting, until we’re not.”

He managed not to yank his arm out of Clint’s grasp. Barton was just trying to look out for him, and the worst part was, he wasn’t wrong. Believing otherwise was easy when it was just him and Tony down in the workshop together, but after the mission was over, they’d drift apart. That was assuming Tony didn’t end the friendship abruptly. Worse still, if he made it through alive, he was still more or less the property of S.H.I.E.L.D. Another assignment would present itself, and off he’d go.

It hurt to hear, but it wasn’t Clint’s fault that he’d gone and fallen for someone he couldn’t have.

“I know,” he said after a moment, and whatever Clint saw in his eyes prompted him to let go, and pat Bucky on the shoulder.

“Sorry, man.” Then he had to go and ruin the moment by adding, “At least get a blowjob or two out of it while you can.”

After sharing that bit of wisdom, Clint opted to slide down the bannister, tossed off a sloppy salute to Bucky who was still at the top of the stairs, and then let himself out, the door banging loudly behind him.

* * *

  1. An agent who functions as an intermediary between a spymaster and other subagents. ↑
  2. The Office of the Secretary of Defense (OSD). ↑




	10. Chapter 10

"Hey, perfect, you're just in time!"

Tony practically ran into him as he entered the workshop, part of the armor on one hand, and a downright maniacal grin plastered on his face. He went to take the cup of coffee Bucky had brought him, then switched hands realizing drinking with the armored one wasn't the best of ideas.

"Thank you, buttercup," he said, taking a big sip despite the heat. "Your contribution to the cause is duly noted. How's the dry shirt treating you? Good?"

Bucky found himself laughing, unable to resist the waves of enthusiasm rolling off of Tony. If his mood was any indication, he’d made progress on the project. "Just dandy." He took the coffee back despite Tony fighting him for it. "Go on, you have something to show me. Coffee after."

"Oh, right, almost forgot," Tony winked and raised his armored hand. "Check this out, flight stabilizer."

He pointed it away from Bucky, bracing his arm and aiming at the wall before doing something to trigger it... which in turn blasted a hole through everything in its path, while also sending Tony flying backwards from the force of the discharge. Bucky had a moment of shocked disbelief before he set down the coffee and rushed over, heart pounding fitfully.

“Tony? You okay?”

Bucky relaxed when he saw Tony’s smile was still firmly in place. “I didn’t expect that,” he admitted, letting Bucky pull him to his feet. “Did you _see_ that though?”

“I saw you almost flatten yourself like a pancake,” Bucky answered, concern creeping in as Tony rushed over to one of his many workbenches, and began making adjustments to the gauntlet.

“All part of the process.” Bucky retrieved the coffee, setting it down beside Tony before clearing his throat, not that he had a chance to speak. “If you’re about to lecture me in any way about what you just witnessed, you might as well go back upstairs now. Don’t have time, and honestly, don’t want to hear it.”

It stung, and Bucky wasn’t even sure why. Probably because Tony was right to say it. Bucky wasn’t his friend, wasn’t his _anything_ really. So he stowed his concerns over Tony using himself as a test subject, and switched over to business mode.

“Coulson delegated the op to Hawkeye. Says not to share anything with Pierce, and to report if he’s in contact.”

Tony turned at this, either from the flat tone Bucky had used, or something he’d said. The little furrow was back in place between his brows, bringing with it the inappropriate desire to press a kiss there, smooth it away with his lips. “He sent Clint?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky watched Tony tap absently against his chest. “Clint happen to say anything about me?”

“Why, is there a problem I should know about?”

To his shock and dismay, Tony’s face went through one of its expressive acrobatic routines, settling on wide-eyed innocence after passing guilty as fuck along the way. “Problem? No. No problem.”

But Tony had stopped looking him in the eye, and the tips of his ears were pink. Bucky’s stomach dropped as he considered something. “Have you worked together before?”

Tony snorted, taking a sip of his coffee before picking his tools back up. “They planted him at SI back when I was first recruited. Of course, he was going by _William_ then.”

“You slept with him.”

Immediately, Bucky wished he could take it back. Tony was shaking his head, jaw clenched tight, his expression stormy, which at least meant there was a chance he was mad enough to have missed the sheer heartache apparent in Bucky’s voice when asking the question.

Tony slammed his tools down onto the table hard enough to slosh coffee from his mug, then whirled on Bucky. “Really? You’re going to get bent out of shape over _that_?”

“Tony, I wasn’t…”

“Yes, okay, I like girls _and_ guys,” Tony continued, his arms folded across his chest. “But when I step “out of line”—that’s a direct quote from the board—the company pays for it, so I happen to shove that half of myself down as if it’s something to be ashamed of—which sucks by the way—and focus more on the ladies. S.H.I.E.L.D. figured it out, because they figure _everything_ out, and dangled Hawkeye in front of me, and then all of a sudden William is Clint, and…”

Impulsively, Bucky reached out and covered Tony’s mouth with his hand to shut him up, hating himself for the questions he wanted to ask. How far had they gone? Did it continue at all after Tony realized Clint was honey trapping him? Did he have _feelings_ for Hawkeye? Did Tony think _he_ was another honey trap?

“I’m not passing judgement. I’m,” jealous wouldn’t have been appropriate to say, “surprised, is all. Clint said to take care of you.”

Amongst other things.

Tony still appeared incensed, was staring daggers at him, so Bucky pulled his hand away, unsure of how to fix the situation. His mouth decided to go rogue on him, mostly to cut off another tirade. “I was in love with Steve.”

As far as derailing Tony’s outrage, it worked. He went straight from angry to confused to what appeared to be slightly embarrassed. “ _Oh_.”

Bucky nodded a few times. “Not anymore. Things… changed. Because of what happened. But I did love him for a long time. So, no, I’m not judging you, Tony.”

“Shit.” Tony cleared his throat. “Okay, so maybe that was an overreaction?”

“It’s fine.”

But it obviously wasn’t, although not for any reason Tony might be thinking. He tried to walk away, but Tony sidestepped to block him, then grabbed him by the shoulders to hold him in place when Bucky tried to head the other way. The metal grip of the gauntlet felt strange in contrast to Tony’s unsheathed hand.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed you were having a homophobic freakout.”

Bucky didn’t have a safe way to explain why he was upset, but didn’t want to just lie and pretend he wasn’t. It was clear that Tony was already turning the conversation around in his head, preparing to mentally castigate himself for his interpersonal skills, which wasn’t something Bucky wanted.

“You know that’s not what I’m doing, right?” he asked, not sure what else to say. Tony let go of his shoulders and took a step or two back, no longer meeting Bucky’s eyes.

“I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t occurred to me.” Bucky watched him, stomach flopping unpleasantly. Tony chewed on his lower lip, toying with the gauntlet, radiating discomfort. “I’ve been withholding information from them about what happened in Afghanistan, and how I escaped. Fury’s not stupid, he’s gotta know I’m, ah, a little all over the place at the moment, and so, sure, why not send in a good looking guy with just enough in common to make me think…”

“I get it,” Bucky interrupted, spirits sinking.

Tony tilted his chin defiantly, his eyes suspiciously bright. “No, you really don’t. People have been fucking with me my entire life. Started with my dad, and never really stopped. So, yeah, okay, I was suspicious of you, but I kinda have about a thousand good reasons to be suspicious of everyone right now.”

What he wanted to do was grab the sides of Tony’s face and pull him into a kiss, just stop the uncomfortable flow of words at the source. Kiss him again and again, until the tension dissipated, and Tony’s mouth went slack and pliant beneath his own, until Tony kissed him back. Instead, he wrapped his arms around himself, and remained quiet, waiting.

Tony stared at him a moment, then exhaled loudly, exasperation evident. “No, Bucky, I do _not_ think you’re trying to, ah, seduce me in order to gather intel for S.H.I.E.L.D. I said it _occurred_ to me, not that I believed it. Do you think I’d have shown you the armor, or the arc reactor in my chest if I thought you were some sort of honey trapping double agent provocateur?”

Of course, there was always the chance that Tony was the one gathering the intel on Bucky. S.H.I.E.L.D. was likely just as aware that he was keeping secrets. On the surface the original assignment he’d been given was appropriate for someone they were still feeling out, but at the same time Tony was almost too good to be true. One minute he feels alone, the next his heart is racing at the mere thought of someone, someone beautiful, brilliant, someone as damaged as he was, someone that didn’t care if he woke up screaming, or was covered in scars, and that _had_ to be a lie, didn’t it?

Things had snowballed so fast that there was no way to be sure of anything, except…

Tony was watching him, something vulnerable in his expression as he waited for Bucky’s answer, as if in the space of a heartbeat the roles had been reversed, and now Tony was anxious for Bucky’s trust.

“I hope not,” he answered, taking a deep breath. “If I do or say something, it’s because I want to, not for some mission, or to report back. And… and it’s important to me. For you to understand that.”

“I understand.” Tony took a step closer, hand curling around Bucky’s wrist. “None of this comes easy to me. Trust is… is unnatural, and I’m gonna have more of these freak outs the longer we’re together, but it’ll, um, settle down at some point. I hope.”

Bucky’s smile felt dangerous, but there was no way to prevent it from taking over his face. Tony smiled back, nervously at first, but relaxing into it quickly, probably not realizing why Bucky was suddenly elated. Tony had said _together_.

“We’ll figure it out as we go, I guess.”

“Good,” Tony gave his arm a little shake before letting go. Bucky watched him move to run a hand through his hair only to balk when he realized he was still wearing the gauntlet. “Right, where was I,” he muttered.

Bucky took that as a sign that Tony had reached his comfort level with the particular topic, and was going back to work. Sure enough, as soon as he was out of the way, welding sparks were flying, and it was as if Bucky wasn’t in the room at all.

Which was fine. He needed some time to gather his thoughts, get himself back in check. Easier said than done. For some time his mind seemed determined to rub his nose in the understanding that Clint and Tony had shared some form of physical intimacy. Based on the comment Clint had made, Bucky knew at least one thing they’d done together. He was presented with haunting mental images of Tony on his knees, face flushed beautifully, cheeks hollowed as he sucked Clint’s cock. Or the reverse, Tony at his desk in his office, with Clint’s head bobbing between his legs, one of Tony’s hands fisted in his hair to guide his movements.

It was arousing and maddening, and each time his mind forced him to think about it, there was a moment when Tony would look to him—as if he’d been there for any of it—stop whatever it was he was doing with Clint, and crook a finger to summon Bucky over. “You’re the one I really want,” Tony would whisper, and Bucky’s heart would ache at the lie he was telling himself.

But that was just at first. He let his mind have its little pity party torture session, then concentrated on pushing all thoughts away. He’d spent hours and days like this when being held prisoner, taking himself to a peaceful place within his mind. A lake, actually, on a spring day, as the sun was coming up.

Slowly, over the course of several hours, the lake transitioned back into the workshop. Tony had made more progress, was having an argument with what looked to be a mechanical arm attempting to assist him with part of the armor.

Bucky got to his feet, thinking he’d have a smoke, and Tony perked up. “Hey, wanna see me fly?”

“Are you serious?”

Like a kid with too much sugar in his system, Tony bounced, gesturing to what looked to be a pair of boots. “This’ll be way better than last time, which was pretty much up, up, up, and back down,” he explained, arcing his hand through the air by way of explanation. “But it was built in a cave, so what do you want?”

“Is this safe?”

“Probably not. I smacked myself off the ceiling last time I tried in here, but I have my shiny new flight stabilizers finished, and so we’re ready to rock. You’re on camera duty, and, uh, there,” he pointed at a fire extinguisher sitting nearby. “Use that if I burst into flames, okay?”

“Wait, what do you mean burst into flames?”

“Don’t worry about it, won’t happen,” Tony assured him. He jogged across the room to grab what looked to be an insulated flight suit of some kind, and began tugging it on over his clothes. “Come on, camera man, don’t let me down, hop to it.”

“I could test it for you,” Bucky offered, although he knew it was a lost cause. “I have extensive guinea pig experience on my resume.”

“Ha! No. That won’t be happening.”

Bucky turned on the camera, made sure there was a tape inside, and carried it over to where Tony was frantically gesturing. He looked like something out of a science fiction movie, struggling to keep his balance as he stomped into the center of the room. It looked as if the boots and gloves were tied into the device seated within Tony’s chest, which was somewhat unsettling. Apparently _Tony_ was the power source for the suit he was building.

“Alright, this should be pretty straightforward. We’re gonna start off nice and slow, right? 1% thrust capacity, and three, two—”

“What, now? Shouldn’t we clear out the area, or—”

“One!”

With that, the thrusters engaged, and suddenly Tony was hovering above the ground amidst noise and chaos. It was as if twin jets of fire were keeping him upright, balanced by smaller versions nestled within his open palms.

“Whoa boy, it’s working, okay,” he stammered, wobbling mid-air before lowering himself back to the ground with a thunk. Sparks shot out from beneath him as the metal hit the concrete, and Bucky was so shocked he almost knocked over the camera. “Not bad! For real this time, 2.5%, here we go. Three, two, one.”

Another blast, this one a bit stronger, enough to shoot Tony up until his hair almost brushed the ceiling. “Please tell me this looks as badass as it feels,” he asked, grinning down at Bucky, “‘cause I’m going to be real disappointed if I watch this later and look like an airborne drunk.”

“Fuck me,” was all Bucky managed as Tony began flying around the room. Well, gliding in the air, wobbling like he was on a surfboard, but that was close enough.

“I’m gonna take that as a positive,” Tony giggled, suddenly propelling himself toward Bucky. “Whoops, okay, watch out. This is where I don’t want to be!” A few more stabilizing bursts, and Tony managed to avoid blasting Bucky. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he answered, beginning to laugh. Tony had already begun adapting, and within the space of a few minutes went from wobbling dangerously to gliding gracefully through the room. “Tony, you’re actually _flying_!”

“Yeah I am!”

After taking a few more laps, Tony returned to his starting position, spinning in a circle before lowering himself back down, the force throwing him off balance. Bucky took a few steps forward to help him regain his balance, but Tony got it on his own.

“You know what this means, right?” he asked excitedly. “On to the next round of testing.”

As thrilling as it was to see Tony making progress, Bucky would be lying if he said he was looking forward to more tests. It wasn't just the concern that he'd blow them both up, there was also S.H.I.E.L.D. and the rest of the world to worry about. Once the armor was complete, would Tony really be content to set it aside and move on to something else? The odds of that happening were about as low as him spontaneously growing his arm back.

Tensions were already high on the global stage. If America's poster boy for capitalism suddenly had a flying armored suit, the Soviets were going to want a _fleet_ of their own. Hell, their own military would be salivating at the idea. At some point Tony would have to answer some pressing questions for people far more powerful than himself, and hope he didn't accidentally kick off World War III in the meantime.

All of it was way beyond Bucky's pay grade. He had enough on his plate worrying about keeping Tony alive long enough for people to care that he had he armor. The board would be voting shortly, and Obie would want to deliver that news in person. Bucky couldn't let him near Tony, but staying beneath the mansion until the week was up wasn't going to change anything, either. As soon as he showed himself, Tony would have a target painted on his back.

You wouldn't have thought as much looking at him. He was flushed with excitement, chatting with his mechanical assistant as he removed the boots.

"I need an easier way to get in and out of you baby," he cooed to his creation, running his hand over the metal surface of one of the gauntlets.

"What's the next round of testing involve?"

Tony glanced at him, then back at the suit. "How about a break? Refueling is in order."

Tony powered a few things down, checked and rechecked the welding equipment, then headed for the elevator, whistling to himself with his hands in his pockets.

"I'm not going to like the next round of testing, am I?"

The only answer Bucky received was another smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 27dragons gets the credit for the Clint/Tony, which I'm really happy to have added into the story. After reading Clint's earlier comment about Tony getting sick of their sort of people after a short period of time, she mentioned that it made her think the two of them might have had a little situation. Well... how could I resist?


	11. Chapter 11

“What was that?” Bucky demanded, almost shaking with anger.

Tony either didn’t notice, or didn’t care, riding high on adrenaline and success. “That was _spectacular_ is what that was!”

He let out a little whoop of delight before beginning the arduous task of removing the armor, his hair sticking up in all the places it wasn’t matted to his head with sweat. Tony’s eyes were bright, his face flushed, the smile wide enough that Bucky felt himself smiling back, despite his anger.

“You said you were going to walk— _walk_ —around the shop, not… not fly out of the building!”

“Bucky! Sometimes you gotta run before you can walk.”

Which was so ridiculous there was no point in arguing with him. It was done, there was no taking it back, and that was that. “How am I supposed to explain this when checking in with Clint?”

“Uh, how ‘bout just don’t say anything,” Tony suggested, giving him a look as if _he_ was the idiot in the room. That title was definitely reserved for Tony, as far as Bucky was concerned.

“Right, because there’s no way Hawkeye would decide to, I don’t know, _spy_ on us or anything. He’ll be within shooting distance of this place the entire time we’re here, Tony. You don’t think Clint will have noticed you _flying_ out of the building for a jaunt around the city?”

Tony at least had the decency to look slightly abashed. “Okay, fine, uh… I don’t know, tell him. Huh. Well, I’m sure you’ll think of something when the moment comes.”

Bucky took a deep breath, pushing aside the frustration. Anger was only going to cloud his judgement anyway.

“You should have seen it. Hell, _felt_ it. Amazing, Buck, just absolutely… _flying_! Handles like a dream, although, not so much when going straight up. Ice build up is not as much fun as you’d think, but hey, I figured it out before I hit the ground!”

Hit the ground, as in crash, as in the exact thing that had been going through Bucky’s mind on an endless, relentless loop the entire time Tony was gone. Each second stretched on and on, while his heart raced, and his mind provided him with unnecessary visuals for all of the spectacular ways in which Tony could manage to kill himself while in the armor.

And here he was, laughing and bouncing on his feet, riding the high that came from narrowly escaping death. Bucky couldn’t stomach it, was reaching out before he could think himself out of the action.

Tony made a soft, surprised sound when Bucky grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into a hug. For a moment, Tony stood rigid, as if unsure of what was happening. “You could have been killed, idiot.”

“But I wasn’t,” Tony said, sounding mystified.

Bucky sighed, began to let go, feeling awkward and maybe even a little stupid. Oddly, it was the release that spurred Tony into action, the body pressed to his own suddenly relaxing, arms coming up, squeezing. Tony shifted against him, sliding his arms out from under Bucky’s own to wrap them around his shoulders, a hand pressing against the back of Bucky’s neck. Tony’s beard was soft against his skin, but tickled, prompting Bucky to turn his head a bit more on Tony’s shoulder, tucking in close, breathing deeply.

“I’m okay,” Tony all but whispered.

It would have been the easiest thing in the world to pull back, slide his hands into Tony’s hair, and kiss him. Bucky wanted to— _badly_ —but found himself in the odd position of being afraid. He’d thought fear was something he’d had beaten out of him, but apparently Tony had brought that back to life, right along with the rest of his feelings. Fear had no place when it was only himself to worry about. Tony, though, Bucky wasn’t sure he’d ever stop worrying about Tony.

“At least warn me next time,” Bucky asked, giving Tony one last squeeze before releasing his hold, stepping back.

Tony looked lost, stranded somewhere between elation and panic. The smile was still in place, but had become shyer, Tony shifting from foot to foot, unsure of where he should be putting his arms. He eventually wound up with them folded across his chest as he rocked back and forth on his feet. Bucky wondered how long it had been since someone had hugged Tony. He’d probably had a few of them when he’d come back from captivity. Bucky’s last hug had been Steve, who hadn’t wanted to let go of him, kept asking, “You’re sure you want to go to New York?”

It felt like something that had happened to someone else. A tiny, stubborn voice demanded to know who the hell Tony Stark thought he was, what he thought he was doing, changing things so drastically without asking permission first. It was _unfair_ , the way he made Bucky feel. As if a line had been drawn through his life, marking the time before and after, leaving him no choice but to think of Tony whenever considering the events that comprised his life.

Bucky swallowed around the lump in his throat, ran a cool, metal hand over his face. “You really did it,” he said after a moment. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Tony chewed on his lower lip, fighting against his smile, seeming unsure of whether or not it was safe to accept the praise. “Yeah?”

“You’re kidding, right?” Bucky stared at him, hands on his hips, shaking his head. “Tony. You just _flew_ a suit of armor through New York.”

The giggle this conjured was irresistible, and before he could muster his defense, Bucky was joining in, until the two of them were laughing like little kids up past their bedtime. Their shoulders knocked together companionably, Tony holding onto his arm as he bent almost double with laughter. Standing back up, Tony’s eyes were bright, and he had to wipe at his face to get the tears out of the way before snorting and finally getting himself under control.

“I _am_ sorry, though. Good luck with Clint.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky answered, surprised when Tony’s nostrils flared, and his eyes darted down as if to stare at Bucky’s mouth before meeting his eyes again, something new to be seen within their depths.

The quality of his smile shifted, made looking away impossible. Bucky had the oddest compulsion to sink to his knees, to just present himself to Tony as he’d been trained to do for his handlers. Palms pressed to his thighs, chin raised to expose the long lines of his throat. It left him feeling hot, uncomfortable, and so he swallowed and dug his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, needing a distraction.

“I keep things interesting,” Tony said after a moment, his voice low and intimate.

“I’ll give you that,” Bucky agreed. He tapped the smokes against his thigh before tucking them back into his pocket. “I should check in with Hawkeye before he gets antsy, calls in backup.”

Tony studied him for a moment, then seemed to come back to himself. “My office upstairs has a secure line.”

“Try not to fly away, or blow anything up while I’m gone, okay?”

To his surprise and delight, Tony winked at him. “No promises, snickerdoodle.”

The ride back upstairs found him fighting to suppress his smile, an unanticipated giddiness crawling under his skin. Bucky hadn’t laughed like that since… Well, since before his world had been turned upside down. He and Steve and the Commandos had laughed together, the sort of laughter that reminded you there was a reason to keep fighting. There was a memory within his heart of being unable to help himself, pressing his face to the curve of Steve’s shoulder, shaking with laughter, face damp with tears. An arm around his shoulders, squeezing and rocking him as Steve joined in. It had probably been the last time he’d been happy before Tony.

“Жизнь прожи́ть — не по́ле перейти́[8],” he muttered to himself, shoving helplessly at the unfamiliar happiness. Growing accustomed to the sensation was a bad idea, as Tony would surely take it away with him when they eventually found themselves parting.

Sobered by the thought, his mood was under control by the time the elevator deposited him on the ground floor. Jarvis was nowhere to be seen, and so Bucky let himself into Tony’s study, pausing to admire the bookshelves, the polished wood surfaces, the opulence of it all.

Still, the receiver felt heavy in his hand as he lifted it, tucked it against his shoulder before dialing the number Clint had given him. “Do us both a favor, and let’s pretend for right now that that didn’t happen,” Clint said upon answering. “‘Cuz I really don’t feel like dealing with this at the moment.”

“Really?”

“Bigger fish to fry.” Hawkeye sighed loudly. “My man is having kittens as it is.” Bucky wondered what the hell had Coulson so worked up. “Keep him inside, if you know what I mean. Anything goes, Winter, so have some fun while you can. Whatever you decide, just make sure he stays grounded.”

“Roger that.”

“You’re fucking up,” Clint felt the need to add in a little singsong. “Didn’t I ask you real nice-like _not_ to fuck up?”

Bucky forced himself to loosen his grip on the receiver. He was squeezing hard enough for the plastic to creak ominously against his ear. “You act like I have control over this situation.”

But Clint had already hung up on him, leaving Bucky no choice but to carefully hang up, his chest heaving a bit with irritation. They had a momentary reprieve, but at some point Coulson was going to hear all about Tony’s little excursion, and that would be that.

If he was any sort of agent, he would head back downstairs and find a way to distract Tony, keep him so occupied that the armor lost priority. There was one surefire way of accomplishing this, which was to follow up on the charged moment they’d shared before Bucky had left. Stalk downstairs, shove Tony back against his workbench, and kiss him.

He didn’t want it like that, though. Tony would let him, Bucky knew that now, had seen it in the vulnerable openness of Tony’s smile. If Bucky pushed them past that line, Tony would go willingly, and the rest of their time together might be spent in the bedroom. The idea of tasting him, having him, left Bucky’s chest heaving, his body tingling with want and hope.

But Tony would know what he was doing and _why_ he was doing it. The intimacy, the trust that they’d been building between them would be sacrificed for cheaper pleasures. They’d fuck, and that’s all it would be; a tawdry little affair to be ended as soon as Obadiah Stane was taken care of.

He wouldn’t do it. Couldn’t. As much as he wanted Tony, it shouldn’t have anything to do with keeping him grounded and out of trouble. It should be because… because looking at him was like seeing the sun and breathing fresh air again after months spent underground.

“Everything okay?” Tony asked. He’d already divested himself of the flight suit, was typing frantically at a terminal, papers covered with mathematics scattered around him. “You look a little peaked.”

“Clint is keeping it under wraps for now. Didn’t give me a chance to make any excuses, which is good since I don’t really have any. He’s asked for you to lay low until all this is taken care of.”

“Yeah, sure,” Tony agreed too easily, fingers flying. The clacking of the keys was almost hypnotic. “I have work to do anyway. Main transducer feels sluggish at plus 40 altitude.”

Bucky made a noncommittal noise in reply. “He have any helpful suggestions for how you should keep me distracted?”

The nonchalance of the question caught him off guard, but Bucky had long since decided that where Tony was concerned, honesty was the best policy. As long as they weren’t talking about his feelings, he couldn’t go wrong with the truth.

“Implied I should seduce you.”

The typing stopped for a moment, Tony’s shoulders twitching, as if surprised Bucky had been so forthcoming. He turned slightly, so that Bucky could see his profile, the way Tony’s teeth worked at his lower lip. “You could, you know? I have a really shitty track record when it comes to saying no to that sort of thing.”

“Then I won’t put you in a position to cave to something you don’t really want,” Bucky said softly, his stomach flip flopping painfully.

He watched Tony blinking, could almost see the thoughts whirling away behind his eyes before he turned to face the terminal again, the _click-click_ of the keys feeling uncomfortably loud in the silence.

“Need to reconfigure the shell metals,” Tony said, sounding uncertain. “The power-to-weight ratio isn’t where I want it.”

“But you flew,” Bucky reminded him. “If you’re already making modifications, you might want to add something for communicating. At least that way if you get into trouble on the next flight, you can let me know where to come get you.”

Tony stopped typing, turned in his chair to stare up at Bucky suspiciously. “You’re not going to talk me out of there being a next time?”

He shrugged. “You’ve already made your mind up. What’s the point? Besides, cat’s already out of the bag. Clint hasn’t said anything yet, but he will. Might as well have as much fun as you can before the consequences catch up.”

“If this is a trick, it’s a pretty good one,” Tony said, his voice light, even though his eyes seemed to say, “please don’t be lying.”

“Anything I can do to help?”  Tony shook his head, eyes still a bit wide. “Alright, then.”

And so Bucky ran a hand through Tony’s hair, untangling it some before squeezing his shoulder and walking back over to the couch to wait and observe. It was some time before Tony’s fingers picked back up their rhythm.

* * *

  1. Living [your] life is not like crossing a meadow. AKA Life was never meant to be easy. ↑




	12. Chapter 12

Bucky didn’t have to worry about lying during his next check in. Since Clint had decided the armor was a taboo subject there was nothing much to report. Tony had worked on through the night, into the next morning, only stopping to go to the bathroom, or smoke the last of Bucky’s cigarettes.

He’d been relegated to bringing coffee and snacks, which was fine, but admittedly boring. At least when Tony had been fine tuning and building there’d been something interesting to watch. The endless typing had Bucky’s patience wearing thin.

Somewhere near the seven hour mark, Tony was pacing around the workshop, muttering to himself about air traffic control, and satellites.

“Stop.”

The dirty look Tony shot his way could have melted paint. “Stop? Why would I stop, I’m so close to…”

“You’re too keyed up,” Bucky interrupted, grabbing Tony’s shoulders. “You’ve mumbled the same sentence under your breath three times now.”

Tony opened his mouth to protest, but promptly let it fall shut again.

“C’mon.” Bucky made a little twirling motion with his hands, physically tuning Tony around when he continued to stand there looking confused. “You’re all tense.”

As if to prove his point, he worked his thumbs into the knot of muscles that was passing as Tony’s neck and shoulders at the moment. To his surprise, Tony shuddered beneath his hands, gasping with pleasure as he let himself relax.

In no time at all, Tony was putty in his hands, swaying back so that Bucky hardly had enough room to maneuver, dark hair tickling his nose. It wasn’t until Tony’s back bumped against Bucky’s chest that the man stopped moving, another shudder running through his body.

“What’re you doing?”

Tony hadn’t stepped away, had stayed put, so that the swell of his ass was pressed against Bucky’s crotch, which was dangerous. He got a bit of room between them, fingers running up into Tony’s hair, massaging his scalp.

“Getting you relaxed so you can think a little better.” Slowly, methodically, he worked thumbs and fingers back down to Tony’s shoulders, wringing little sounds of pleasure out of him as he did. “We can always hit the gym if this doesn’t work. Little physical activity is always good. Takes the conscious mind off of the problem, lets the rest of it do its thing uninterrupted.”

The only reply was a soft, happy sound as Tony let his head tip forward, tormenting Bucky with the impulse to kiss the nape of his neck. Instead, he continued the shoulder rub, until it seemed like Tony might actually fall asleep on his feet. Once he stopped, it took a minute before Tony perked back up, clearing his throat and shuffling a few steps away, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Hey, if the whole spy thing doesn’t work out, at least you have something to fall back on.”

“Nice to have choices,” he answered, returning Tony’s shy smile. For an awkward moment they just stared at each other, but then Tony jerked a thumb over his shoulder and headed that way, returning to work.

“Is it okay if I use the gym?”

Tony was already engrossed enough to not bother turning, just calling, “Help yourself,” as he picked up where he’d left off.

Doing something physical was a relief after all the time spent sitting on Tony’s couch. Rather than dig through what Jarvis had purchased to see if there was something appropriate for a workout, Bucky just stripped down to his boxers and got to work.

At first, his mind offered him nothing but the memory of how Tony had felt in his arms when they’d hugged. All of the places where their bodies had met, the warmth of him, the way he smelled. And then the impromptu massage. The soft noises of pleasure he’d made as Bucky worked the tension out of his shoulders. He wondered what sort of sounds Tony might make under different circumstances.

While it was enjoyably arousing to imagine, it was equally frustrating, and pushing the intrusive thoughts away was the reason he’d wanted to work out in the first place. The heavier the weights lifted, the more focused his concentration grew. The burn in his muscles helped to alleviate the feeling of emptiness. Since holding Tony in his arms, it felt like they’d been changed somehow, like they might only ever feel normal again once they were wrapped back around Tony, holding him tight.

Bucky was pretty sure it was the single most ridiculous thought he’d ever had, which made him miss Steve terribly. If Steve had been there, Bucky could have talked to him, told him what had happened, asked for advice, or just gushed about Tony. It was all too easy to imagine the retching sound his friend would make, the playful shove he’d give while teasing Bucky over how pathetic and lovesick he’d become.

This had him smiling until it occurred to him that depending on how things played out over the next few days he might _never_ see his best friend again. And because his mind was an uncomfortable place at the best of times, his next thought was if anyone would bother with a funeral. They’d had a ceremony sans body back when Bucky had officially been declared dead. Chances were, there wouldn’t be a body this time, either. S.H.I.E.L.D. would want to take his corpse directly to the labs—do not pass go—would be thrilled to finally get a good look at the implants in his head, and the rest of what had been done to him.

Would anyone even think to contact Steve, let him know Bucky was dead? Tony might, as long as he was still alive, but it wouldn’t be the worst idea to ask it of him as a favor. Just in case.

It was all sobering enough that any residual emotional high from his bit of physical contact with Tony was washed away, leaving him in a more comfortably familiar state of unrest.

So, naturally, this was when Tony chose to make an appearance. Bucky spotted him in the mirrors, and stopped mid-sit up to give a little wave.

“Are you actually taking a break?”

As soon as he saw him, Tony swallowed his coffee the wrong way, so that he spent quite a bit of time coughing and sputtering while Bucky hopped to his feet, took the mug from his hands and gave him a pat on the back. Furtively, between coughs, Tony’s eyes darted to the mirrors along the walls again and again, until Bucky finally realized that _he_ was the source of Tony’s distress. 

Following the direction of Tony’s gaze, he saw himself, muscles glistening with sweat, the light fabric of his boxers clinging to his skin. Bucky wasn’t blind enough not to realize that—aside from the scars and the metal arm—he would be considered physically attractive.

People had always complimented him on his looks, his easy, sly smile, and his eyes. The smile might not appear very often anymore, and the eyes looked as if they’d seen far too much, but he was still handsome enough. And if someone was willing to overlook what had been done to him, then his body was admittedly in good shape. The experiments had altered his metabolism, so he had very little body fat, which went a long way for showing off all the muscle he’d put on as a result of the super soldier drug trials.

Steve had commented on the difference when they’d seen each other again, which was sort of hilarious considering how much _he’d_ changed just from going through basic when they’d joined the Army. He’d grown out of his asthma by the time he hit his teens, so that once they had a steady source of food, and a warm place to sleep at night, Steve had all but transformed, making Bucky look like a lightweight by comparison.

That had been before, though.

Up until meeting Tony, Bucky hadn’t given much thought to his appearance, but now he was in an odd position. Any lingering doubts he might have had as to whether or not Tony found him attractive were long gone, washed away by the hungry look in Tony’s eyes. Bucky found himself straightening his shoulders, pushing the sweat soaked hair back from his forehead, while Tony’s chest heaved, and his eyes darted as he took in the view, no longer bothering to hide what he was doing.

“Sorry. I’m ogling you, aren’t I?” he asked flatly, sounding as if his mind was very far away. “I don’t know why I wasn’t prepared for you to be all sweaty and half naked in here. I mean, it is a gym.”

“I don’t mind.” Bucky’s voice seemed to snap him out of his trance. Tony looked up, smiling nervously, the signs of sleep deprivation beginning to show around his eyes. Bucky used this as an opportunity to give back the mug of coffee.

Tony took a long gulp, exhaling sharply through his nose. “I feel like this crosses some sort of line,” he said after a moment, hiding his mouth behind his mug. “Like, back there somewhere, if we looked, we’d find some obvious sign of demarcation where normal, well adjusted people would have said, ‘Hey, let’s stop here, because if we keep heading this way shit is going to get crazy.’ You know what I mean?”

Bucky chuckled, shrugged a shoulder. “Not really, Tony.”

“Fine, be that way.”

He took a moment to appreciate the sight of Tony, flushed in the face, chewing on his lower lip, trying and failing not to stare, but then went to grab his clothes. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Mm hmm. Good idea. What with the sweaty muscles and all. You’ll want to get those all, ah, sudsy.” Tony ran a hand over his face, while making a frustrated noise. “Please ignore everything I’ve said, my filters are clearly long gone. I sound like a creep.”

“Told you. I don’t mind,” Bucky reminded him.

“I actually popped up here to see if you were hungry at all. I officially have hours to kill while the upgraded suit is fabricated. Come be American with me and have dinner on the couch while watching TV.”

“Sounds good. Meet you upstairs?”

Tony gave him a thumbs up, took one last look, then shook his head and rushed out of the room. Bucky had a hard time wiping the smile off of his face. Tony was having that effect on him more and more. Whether or not he ever decided to act upon his physical attraction, Bucky could still enjoy the knowledge that Tony found him desirable. After years spent feeling like a piece of furniture, to say it was refreshing would be an understatement.

Sure enough, Tony was waiting for him upstairs, obviously still uncomfortable about what had happened if his inability to make eye contact was any indication. Bucky figured trying to talk about it would only make things more awkward, so he accepted his plate with a quiet thank you, and sat down on the couch.

It seemed strange, balancing plates on their knees while sitting on furniture worth thousands of dollars, watching the largest TV Bucky had ever seen. Strange, but oddly comfortable. Somehow, despite the size of the couch, Tony had sat himself close enough for Bucky to feel every time he lifted his fork to his mouth.

They were just finishing up their meal when Tony perked up, the TV suddenly worthy of his full attention.

“...where Tony Stark's third annual benefit for the Firefighter's Family Fund has become the place to be for New York's high society.”

Bucky watched Tony’s brows furrow, the fork slowly lowering to the plate as the announcer went on to explain how Tony hadn’t been seen at a public event since his controversial press conference, and some garbage about him possibly becoming a recluse.

Tony handed over his plate, stalking from the room before Bucky knew what was happening. He could make out Tony and Jarvis talking, the former asking if he’d received an invite for the event. He was back a moment later, his jaw tight with irritation.

“Hey hot stuff, go get into that monkey suit Jarvis got for you. We’ve got a party to crash.”

One look made it clear that there was no talking Tony out of going. “Will Stane be there?”

“Sure hope so,” he called over his shoulder as he headed for the stairs.

Bucky rose to his feet, surprised when Jarvis appeared to take the plates he was holding. “Do keep him safe,” Jarvis instructed, waiting for Bucky’s nod of agreement before stepping aside.

“I promise,” he said, and whatever it was Jarvis saw in his eyes was enough to make the man smile.

Before getting changed, Bucky popped into Tony’s office and gave Clint a heads up, holding the phone away from his ear when the shouting started. Figuring he didn’t have the time to argue, Bucky hung up once he was certain Clint had all the necessary details. He wouldn’t put it past Tony to leave him behind if he wasn’t ready to go when Tony was.

He didn’t have time to shave, but he was playing the role of bodyguard, so figured it didn’t much matter. He simply had to be armed and in the tux. Tony, on the other hand, had neatened up his beard, showered, done his hair, and was ready to hit the red carpet.

Bucky had sudden sympathy for Tony’s earlier tongue-tied state, momentarily unable to do much more than process how well Tony wore a tux. In the short time they’d been together, he’d already found himself forgetting the persona Tony donned when leaving home, had to adjust to the smile that didn’t quite reach the eyes, and the forced cheer.

He was still struggling when Tony came to a halt in front of him, and began making little adjustments to his bowtie, smoothing down the lapels of the jacket, and brushing at his shoulders. “Please tell me there’s a gun somewhere under all the fancy.”

Bucky unbuttoned his jacket, pulled it open to show the holstered weapon.

“You might want to wear gloves,” Tony suggested, eyes darting to Bucky’s left hand before he grabbed their coats from Jarvis. “Don’t wait up, J.”

“Remember your promise,” Jarvis said ominously as Bucky walked past.

With a sigh, Bucky resigned himself for a long evening of worrying, and slid into the car waiting outside.


	13. Chapter 13

While he’d expected the mob of reporters waiting to converge upon them as soon as the flashy car rolled to a halt outside of the venue, Bucky admittedly wasn’t prepared for the fans. More than one woman tried to get Tony’s attention on his way in, with a level of enthusiasm that bordered on alarming. It took quite a bit of self control not to pull his weapon and order them to back off.

“I’m now 99% convinced that they’ll send a female assassin after you,” Bucky grumbled as he stood behind Tony, scanning the crowd while Tony posed for a picture on the red carpet.

“Yeah, that’d probably be the smart move,” Tony agreed with a large, almost maniacal smile. “Obie, ten o’clock. Let’s go say hello.”

He wasn’t left with much say in the matter, forced to rush after Tony as he made a beeline through the remaining throng outside, clapping Stane on the shoulder as soon as he was close enough.

“Look at you. Hey, what a surprise.”

That Tony was able to keep his smile in place, and his eyes entirely free of rage was impressive. Bucky hung back an appropriate distance, trying to keep his breathing slow and even. It would be bad to put a bullet in Stane’s head in front of the press, no matter how tempting it was. Tony wouldn’t approve of murder, even if it was more than Stane deserved. Bucky wouldn’t lose a bit of sleep over it, which was something he should probably have been more concerned about.

“Tony,” Obadiah said, winding an arm around Tony’s shoulders, pulling him in extra close. “Listen, take it slow, okay? I think I got the board right where we want them. We’re meeting tomorrow.”

“Good, great,” Tony grinned for a photographer. Bucky wondered if anyone looking at the photo would be able to see and understand the barely suppressed venom Stane was exuding, or if they’d see a touching moment between Tony Stark and his surrogate father. “All I’m doing is taking it slow, you got nothing to worry about.”

Stane’s eyes locked with Bucky’s own as he brought his mouth closer to Tony’s ear. “I thought we _straightened_ this sort of thing out, huh? Now is not the time to be rocking the boat.”

Tony’s smile lost some of its shine, but he managed to keep his voice light when he glanced in Bucky’s direction, then back to Stane. “He’s my new bodyguard. Don’t worry, he’s very good at blending, no one will even notice him once I’m inside. Speaking of which, I’ll just be a minute.”

Stane kept a smile on his face as Tony gave him a quick pat on the back, and skipped off inside. Bucky could feel the weight of Obadiah's glare as he followed, slipping in before Tony got too far ahead of him.

He’d thought inside might be better, but it was easily worse. Person after person sidling up, wanting a quick word, or to ask an uncomfortable question. Tony seemed unphased by it all, comfortable walking away as people spoke to him, or reached for him, stopping when he felt like it, slowly but surely making his way to the bar.

Once there, he all but collapsed against it, sighing dramatically before straightening up again and signaling for the bartender.

“He’ll have a Scotch.”

Bucky cursed inwardly, while Tony let his head hang for a moment before turning to glare over his shoulder. “Wow, so it’s gonna be that kind of party, huh?”

Hawkeye gave him a saucy wink, which surprisingly led to Tony cackling, his hand landing firmly against Clint’s back, nestled between his shoulder blades. To Bucky’s dismay, it stayed there, even when Tony’s drink arrived.

“You get all dolled up for me?”

Clint snorted. “You wish. The shirt I’m wearing under the jacket doesn’t even have sleeves,” he announced with a proud smile, pulling it open enough to show he wasn’t lying. “The cuffs are sewn into the ends there.”

“You are _bizarre_.”

Tony’s hand finally moved, sliding down along Clint’s back, ghosting over his hip before Tony switched his drink from one hand to the other. They were still standing far too close for Bucky’s comfort, but at least Tony was no longer touching him.

“Logic, my friend. If I have to shoot, it’s way easier without stupid sleeves and cufflinks and all that shit. I just pop off the jacket, and hello freedom of movement.”

“Seriously, what’re you doing here, Legolas? I already have a date, thank you very much.” Tony took a loud sip of his drink, while Bucky tried not to take the comment seriously.

“Me? Oh, I’m here because you’re an idiot.” Clint leaned against the bar, smiling as his eyes moved slowly, using the mirror behind the bar to scan the room, much as Bucky was doing when not sneaking glances at the two men. “With what’s going on, kinda surprised you’re in the mood to party.”

Tony shrugged, glanced at Bucky, before looking down into his drink. “Might as well do it while I still can, right?” He emptied the glass, and set it down, tilting his head toward the other side of the room. “Speaking of which, I feel like dancing.”

Bucky watched as Tony wove through the crowd, making his way over to Pepper. It was strange seeing them together, especially once they began dancing, looking for all the world like they belonged on the top of a wedding cake, or in a photoshoot. It left Bucky feeling like he was back in the loft, binoculars in hand, lying to himself, pretending he wasn’t terribly alone.

“Coulson already knew about you know what. Well, sorta. He wasn’t surprised, let’s put it that way.”

His stomach lurched, eyes locking on Tony, as if Coulson and S.H.I.E.L.D. might be sweeping in at any moment, prepared to drag Tony back to the mansion in order to take the armor by force.

“Hey, it’s cool,” Hawkeye said, giving him a pat on the back. “We’re the good guys, remember?”

Bucky felt the muscles in his jaw twitch as Clint walked away, scanning the room as he went. Really, as far as backup went, they couldn’t have asked for better. He should have been grateful that Clint had told him about Coulson, and was being pretty laid back about having to help Bucky cover what would normally have been a ten man operation, minimum.

Instead, he couldn’t shake the memory of Tony’s hand brushing over Clint’s hip, and the easy way in which they’d laughed together. Whatever had happened between them, and however Tony really felt about it, at least they could work together. It was just a shame that by doing so they made Bucky feel as if he was coming out of his skin with jealousy.

As if he had any right to feel that way. He was a guest in Tony’s world. The sooner he wrapped his head around that, the better.

So Bucky walked the room, exchanging glances with Hawkeye along the way, growling in frustration when Tony led Pepper out onto the balcony. Clint’s eyes went wide and he mouthed, “are you serious?” before slipping out to join them, while Bucky waited for all hell to break loose in a hail of sniper fire.

Instead, the only thing that happened was Tony swooping back inside, heading straight to the bar. Bucky had about a minute’s reprieve before his hackles went up all over again. Tony and a gorgeous blond were chatting, Tony’s body language making it clear he wanted to be just about anywhere else. Immediately, Bucky got Clint’s attention, but received the all clear sign.

Whatever she’d handed Tony had him upset, though. He was stalking from the bar, his mouth pressed into a thin line, leaving Bucky to play catch up once again. By the time he got outside, Tony was standing on the red carpet lined stairs, watching as Stane drove away.

“Tony?”

But Tony acted as if he hadn’t heard, walking briskly down the stairs through the flashing cameras and the crowd, heading straight for the car. Bucky started to follow, but hadn’t even made it down the stairs before Tony sped off without him, tires screeching as he departed.

For a moment he simply stood at the curb staring in disbelief, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened.

“Come on, I’ll give you a lift,” Clint offered, breaking into a sprint.

Feeling surprisingly humiliated, Bucky had no choice but to follow, biting the inside of his cheek, hoping beyond hope that Hawkeye might actually stay quiet for the ride.

“Don’t take it personal,” was the first thing Clint said, followed by, “he does this to everyone.”

Bucky didn’t answer, just used his teeth to tug off his gloves, and stared out the window, pushing aside the churning wildfire of emotion threatening to take over. “Who was that woman?”

“A reporter.”

“I think she handed him photographs. Anything been going on in the world that would get that sort of reaction out of Stark?”

“Oh, he’s Stark now, is he?” Clint sounded surprisingly casual for someone whipping through traffic as if trying to break the land speed record. Bucky was rocked against the car door as Clint took a corner with particular enthusiasm. “No idea. Been otherwise occupied. You can ask him when you see him, then let me know.”

When Bucky didn’t respond, Clint took his eyes off the road, gave him his best ‘no bullshit’ look. “And you _will_ tell me, Winter.”

“Of course.” Which was one way to get Clint to look where he was driving. It was also the sad truth. “You’re not coming in?”

“Fuck no. He’s all yours.”

Clint whipped the car up to the gates and stopped abruptly, at least waiting until Bucky was out of the car before peeling off again, likely heading back to wherever he was posted up for observation. Bucky watched him go, dark mood settling in his heart as he had Jarvis buzz him in.

Jarvis gave him an outstandingly biting look as he headed for the elevator, leaving him with the sense of having disappointed the closest thing Tony had to family. Bucky didn’t like the feeling one bit. And yes, he was nothing to Tony, nothing at all, but at that moment he didn’t particularly care, wanted more than anything to just give the man a piece of his mind.

He already had his mouth open prepared to unleash a tirade, but found his words swept away at the sight of Tony. Standing in the room, breathing heavily and pacing, wearing one of the gauntlets—now bright red, for some reason—a thick, glowing wire winding up his bared arm and snaking beneath the tank top he wore, connecting to the reactor resting in the center of his chest.

“I’m putting a stop to this,” Tony all but shouted. He raised his gauntleted hand so that Bucky was able to see the glowing center at the palm. Tony’s eyes were bright with unshed tears.

Bucky took a deep breath, looked around the room, took in the broken glass, the hole in one wall. “You’ve weaponized it?” he asked softly.

“Double-dealing, Bucky,” Tony spat through a clenched jaw. “People are being _murdered_ , being driven from their homes. And my fucking name is written on the side of the weapons they’re using to do it!”

Tony’s arm lowered, and he made a soft, desperate sound, his mouth trembling as he shook his head, looking at Bucky imploringly. “ _My_ name,” he said, sounding as if someone had punched him in the stomach.

Bucky held his gaze, paralyzed for a moment by the sensation of free falling while standing still. He needed to keep Tony from doing anything stupid, could almost hear Clint’s voice in his head telling him not to fuck up. And yet…

“How can I help?”

As he watched, Tony’s nostrils flared, his chest heaved once or twice before he exhaled loudly, eyebrows going up as he stared at Bucky like this was the first time he was really seeing him. Then Tony was moving, crossing the distance between them in long strides, all but throwing himself against Bucky. There was a frantic edge to the hug, but Bucky didn’t mind. It seemed appropriate.

Tony shook in his arms, alive with anger and the need to act upon the decision he’d come to, holding on so tight that it was almost hard to breathe. Bucky closed his eyes, inhaling slowly, filling his nostrils with the scent of Tony’s cologne, his shampoo, his skin. He didn’t want to let go, but Tony was already pushing himself free, putting space between them, leaving Bucky swaying toward the missing warmth of his body.

“Thank you.”

It was heartfelt, and Bucky wanted to hold onto the moment, let it stretch out to sustain his starved and aching heart. Tony’s smile was a beautiful sight, the gratitude in his eyes making Bucky feel like he’d made the right decision, even though he hadn’t. He was sure his reciprocal smile was an uncertain thing, there and gone as Tony began disconnecting the gauntlet, and rushing around the room.

“This is where being a workaholic pays off.”

Tony kicked off his shoes, unzipping his tuxedo pants, leaving Bucky momentarily confused, until he spotted the flight suit draped over the back of the couch. He looked away as the pants came off, shrugging himself out of his tuxedo jacket, and pulling his bowtie loose.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Tony assured him, “and I’ll let you know what’s happening in real time. It’s gonna be fine, you’ll see.”

All Bucky could see was the tribunal he’d be brought in front of after Tony’s stunt kicked off another war. That was preferable to the unwelcome realization that he’d likely be the only one left alive to face the consequences of whatever it was Tony had planned. The brilliant, beautiful man responsible would most likely be killed in action, if he didn’t crash, or run out of fuel, or just explode mid-air for no particular reason.

It left him sick with worry, but he’d made his decision and would stand by it. Stand by Tony. Who was now zipped into his flight suit, and grinning at him like a kid on Christmas morning.

Bucky rolled up his sleeves as he watched the insanity that was Tony getting suited up, layer upon layer snapping into place, the robotic arm screwing components together as Tony went. “Yeah, definitely need to automate this better,” Tony muttered about ten minutes in, winking at Bucky. All that was missing now was the helmet.

For a long, charged moment, Tony stared at him, his pulse wild enough that Bucky could see it jumping in his neck. “Be careful,” Bucky blurted, laughing at himself as soon as the words left his lips. “You know, as careful as you can be while flying a rocket suit into a warzone.”

Tony’s expression was serious, though, as if he’d taken Bucky’s words to heart. “I’m coming back,” he said, sounding so sure of himself that Bucky couldn’t help but want to believe him. “But, um… Ah, fuck it.”

When it moved the armor was louder than Bucky had expected, and made Tony just tall enough that when he cupped Bucky’s face in his gauntleted hands, and pulled him close, he had to tilt his chin up to accept the kiss Tony was offering. He had no idea what was in his eyes for Tony to see, was just shocked and amazed to find him there watching, the brown seeming especially endless as Bucky stared into their depths.

It was a little thing, as far as kisses went, and Bucky tried to tell himself that it meant nothing to Tony, tried to calm the wild sense of triumph slamming in his chest in time with the beating of his heart. But still, he couldn’t help but whimper the softest of noises against Tony’s mouth. To his own ears he sounded hungry, desperate, vulnerable. Tony brushed their lips together again, and again, light and teasing, but at the sound he surged forward, little furrow between his brows as he deepened the kiss before sucking Bucky’s lower lip into his mouth.

Feeling bold, Bucky returned the favor, quickly falling into a rhythm of give and take, their tongues brushing, teasing, so that he could taste the faintest hint of Scotch in Tony’s mouth, feel the rasp of his beard. Bucky wanted to never stop, but he’d long since become used to not getting what he wanted, so didn’t fight when Tony pulled away.

His face was flushed with something decidedly more attractive than anger, mouth shiny, lips puffy from the stimulation. The look in his eyes was alarming, though, as if what he’d just done was more terrifying than what he was about to embark upon.

“To be continued,” Tony said, his voice low, and broken.

“If it looks like things are going bad, broadcast your coordinates. I’ll find a way to get to you, even if I have to steal a plane.”

Some of the nervousness was swept aside by Tony’s smile, which was almost immediately hidden as he took up the helmet and slid it down over his head. What was left behind was something straight from science fiction, intimidating and spectacular.

When he spoke again, Tony’s voice sounded distorted, as if there wasn’t a man inside the suit. “Communications, right over there,” Tony explained, pointing to a headset. “All you have to do is turn it on, and we’re in business.”

He glanced at the set up, nodding. “Was my codename in the file they gave you?” The mask remained eerily blank as Tony shook his head in the negative. “It’s Winter Soldier. Use it when talking to me. Yours will be Helios. No names from here on out; it’s shortwave, anyone could be listening.”

Tony tossed a sloppy salute in his direction. “See you soon, Winter Soldier.”

“Good luck, Helios.”

Bucky held his breath as he watched the suit flair to life, just making out Tony’s quiet, “here goes nothing,” before he and the armor were gone, possibly never to return.

“Be safe,” he said to no one at all, brushing his fingers against his mouth, trying to conjure the sensation of being kissed.


	14. Chapter 14

The hours that followed redefined anguish for Bucky. It was shocking. As someone who had actually endured _years_ of physical and psychological torture, he felt himself in possession of an ability to withstand almost anything. But sitting around, helpless, while Tony was in danger, too far away for Bucky to come to his rescue? If only the KGB had known. They could have broken him in a matter of minutes.

Clint had burst into the mansion shortly after Tony's dramatic departure, read him the riot act, the two of them right up in each other's faces in the foyer while Jarvis waited nearby. Bucky had the sneaking suspicion he was armed, might even be there to provide backup.

Ultimately, Clint came to terms with the understanding that there was no way to persuade Tony to return, and moved on to his next demand.

"Take me downstairs!"

"Not happening. You'll have to go through me," Bucky had answered easily. Clint's eyes had widened in surprise—he could see that the threat was by no means an empty one—and so he'd added pleadingly, "I don't want to hurt you, Hawkeye."

"Coulson is going to lose his fucking mind," Clint said, exhaling raggedly. "I gotta pass this up the chain. No arguments."

"I understand.”

Only Clint didn’t move, he rocked on his heels, jaw clenched, angrier than Bucky had ever seen him before. “What’re you doing, Buck?” he asked, and there was sadness in his voice. “Stark’s a valuable asset with deep pockets, and deeper connections. They’re not gonna burn him. But you? You got expendable written all over you.”

Bucky swallowed, gave a little nod. “I know.”

“Depending on how this plays out, they could execute you for treason, you get that, right?”

“Была́ не была́.[9] Better me than him.” Clint’s expression softened as he hung his head in defeat. “Tony’s expecting me to be on the shortwave."

“I hope he’s worth it.”

Bucky didn’t bother answering. Clint had seen it all in his eyes, anyway. Tony was worth everything. He wasn’t about to give up without a fight, but if push came to shove, Bucky wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever was necessary to ensure Tony’s safety.

Clint waved him off with a resigned sigh, heading for Tony's office, presumably to use the secure line to contact Coulson. Jarvis watched him go, eyes narrowed, before meeting Bucky's own and nodding. There was something there, something that looked a little like gratitude.

Bucky had a feeling Jarvis knew all about what had transpired between Clint and Tony, assumed this was the reason why he'd been so concerned when another male agent had shown up at the mansion. Had been worried that history was repeating itself. He could only hope for a chance to prove himself more worthy of Tony’s trust.

"I’ll keep an eye on Agent Barton."

Nodding his thanks, he didn’t waste any more time, dashed back to the elevators, heading down to the shop. After the confrontation with Clint, reestablishing contact with Tony was almost anticlimactic.

The flight to Afghanistan went surprisingly well, Tony whooping with delight, describing what it was like, giving almost non-stop technical commentary, and insisting Bucky take notes for him. Despite his fears, it was hard not to smile in response to the childlike wonder and delight he could hear in Tony’s voice.

Certainly, a part of him thrilled at what Tony had accomplished, at the sheer magnitude of his genius, but the rest of him quaked with fear. Tony had only considered the physical dangers, had clearly given no thought to the political fallout. Bucky was strong, was a good shot, but if they sent the Army in to seize Tony’s creation, he wasn't sure what he could do to stop it from happening. It would only be a matter of time before he would be killed, and Tony would be locked up, and...

Imagined dangers had been bad enough, but much sooner than Bucky had anticipated, Tony arrived at his destination, and the colorful commentary fell by the wayside. He left the channel open, and the sounds of destruction filled the workshop, each gunshot leaving him more raw, and anxious than the one preceding it. It was almost anticlimactic; the fight itself took only minutes, Tony eliminating the threat as if he was a child knocking over toy soldiers.

“Wrap it up.”

“Fuck that. It’s a waste of a trip unless those stockpiles are blown to smithereens.”

Which was true, but didn’t help Bucky’s situation in the least. Not that coming home was guaranteed to be any safer. At the least they could attempt to transfer as much of Tony’s fortune as possible into offshore accounts before the assets were seized, try to get out of the country, and live off the grid until they had a plan. Tony just had to get back alive was all, and with each passing minute, the odds of that happening decreased.

“Roger that.” Bucky pushed his fears aside. Tony needed him to focus on the mission if he was going to get him home in one piece. “Helios, you need to treat this like a black op—we can’t risk blowback, do you copy?”

Bucky had spent so much time with his jaw clenched that his head was pounding enough for him to time the beating of his heart as he waited for some acknowledgement from Tony.

“Yeah, I copy. Uh, did you have something in mind?”

It was asked cautiously, as if the idea of blame hadn’t occurred to Tony. Based upon how angry he’d been before taking off, it probably hadn’t, which was worrying. If he hadn’t been so distracted by Tony’s parting kiss, perhaps they’d have had the time to discuss strategy before the man flew into an active warzone.

Orders came from those with a full view of the field for a reason; sometimes when you were on the ground, you missed the bigger picture. They’d never talked specifics about Tony’s captors, and S.H.I.E.L.D. had purposefully left him in the dark. Stane could have been working with the insurgent groups, the Soviets, or even the CIA for all he knew. Like any good agent, Bucky hated operating without solid intelligence.

“You’re in the best position to make the call,” he explained cautiously. “This is all about plausible deniability.” In other words, use the ongoing Soviet–Afghan War as cover.

Thankfully, Tony read between the lines. “I hear you loud and clear, Winter Sexypants. Got a shiny target in sight, so time to pay attention. Be right back.”

The line went dead for much longer than Bucky was comfortable with.

“Whoo! I am a _badass_ ,” Tony’s voice eventually cut through the silence, the words almost undecipherable, everything washed out with bursts of static. “...communications …minimal …beautiful ...you were here!”

Eyes squeezed shut, he made adjustment after adjustment, but it was clear the issue was on Tony’s end. “Helios, you’re breaking up.”

More static, then another garbled message, the only words of which he could make out being, "radio damaged," and “everything’s fine,” which was something at least.

As the minutes stretched into hours, he tried his best to stay sane. There was no way to know where Tony was, if the suit was still in one piece and capable of getting him home, or if he'd been captured, or killed. Scenario after scenario played out in Bucky’s mind, so that his stomach churned, and his heart ached.

He cleaned up the mess Tony had made when calibrating the gauntlet, wished he hadn't smoked all of his cigarettes, checked and rechecked his gun, and wondered why it was S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn't simply infiltrated the mansion, and taken him into custody.

Needing something to occupy the time, he carefully typed up the notes he'd taken on Tony's behalf, tried and failed to sleep, and wished again that he could call Steve. He wasn't sure what he would say, but even hearing his friend's voice would have been a comfort.

Mostly, he prayed in a way he had never bothered with when he had been held in captivity. Death had been the only plausible exit then, the idea that someone would come to his rescue laughable. But Tony—beautiful, brilliant Tony—he prayed for. Whenever his mind confronted him with images of Tony’s body, broken and bloody in the sand, Bucky shoved viciously at the intrusive thought, as if thinking it would cause it to happen.

Tony was coming back. He'd said he would, and Bucky _needed_ to believe him, because the alternative was unacceptable. There was no fooling himself, not any longer, because misplaced or not, his heart had settled upon Tony. He'd always laughed at the notion of fate, or true love, but he wasn't laughing now. The idea that, after years of living in hell, he would finally find all of the missing pieces of himself in another person _couldn't_ be an accident. The timing was too perfect, some guiding force had to have brought them together. And now that he'd found Tony, Bucky would set the world on fire if that's what it took to keep him.

So Bucky waited in agony, staring holes in the walls while replaying their kiss over and over again in his mind, dragging his thumb across his lower lip until he thought he might go mad with _wanting_. The brush of Tony’s beard against his skin, the look that had been in his eyes when Bucky kissed him back.

Even if Tony never kissed him again, decided it had been a mistake, hearing his voice, seeing his smile, knowing he was safe would be enough for Bucky.

“Please be safe,” he begged no one in particular.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that at first he didn’t recognize the high-pitched whine for what it was, but as the sound grew closer, Bucky jumped to his feet, heart racing, feeling as if he’d run a marathon. The suit wavered momentarily, the red and gold swimming together as tears of relief and happiness blurred his vision. Bucky wiped at them absently, pushing them aside, rushing over, desperate to see Tony’s face.

“Honey, I’m home,” came the disembodied announcement before the suit all but fell back to Earth, rocking for a moment before it steadied itself again.

Bucky scanned the suit, noting everywhere it had been damaged, feeling his blood boil. “Are those bullet holes?”

Tony finally managed to get the helmet off, revealing his madcap grin, hair sticking up everywhere. “A couple. What? It’s _armor_ , I’m fine, that’s the whole point, right?” He glanced down at the damage, giggling, obviously still riding high on adrenaline. “Forget ‘em, I got knocked out of the air by a tank and got back up!”

Bucky felt almost as if his legs might go out from under him. “A tank?”

The robot assistants began attempting to extract Tony from the armor while he twisted and jerked, hissing his complaints at the clumsy handling.

“A little one. Well, okay, not _little_ , exactly. Aww, come on, don’t make that face, pumpkin! Actually, the—ow, DUM-E, careful!—timing was kind of perfect, really, if you think about it. I took your plausible deniability to heart, and so I sort of dragged it to one of the stockpiles, you know? So, insurgents come to get their weapons, and—oh, hello—everything is on fire, and wait a minute! Who left this Soviet T-62 here?”

“You got knocked out of the air by a T-62,” Bucky murmured to himself, a hand pressed to his temple as if to prevent his head from exploding.

Tony’s eyes were wild, he was obviously beyond pleased with himself, which was an odd contrast to the panic whipping through Bucky’s system. He wanted to shake him, make Tony realize how close he’d come to being killed, how much danger they were still in. The beautiful bastard was acting like this was some sort of game, and it made Bucky sick to his stomach.

Mostly, though, he was _so relieved_ he couldn’t focus on anything but the fact that Tony was alive, was in one piece, was home again.

“You wouldn’t believe how beautifully this handles, Buck, I mean, _supersonic_! Literally, flying at supersonic speeds in a suit of armor—”

Whatever else Tony had planned to say was cut off abruptly when Bucky grabbed the sides of his face to hold him steady, and kissed him. He was going to just help himself to one, see if that was still okay. It was the whimper that did it to him, high, and surprised, and hardly even sounding like Tony at all. Bucky nipped at his lips admittedly rougher than necessary, thrust his tongue into Tony’s mouth while tugging on his hair, and was momentarily confused when metal hands grabbed hold of him.

“Oh, _fuck_ , yes, let me get out of the suit,” Tony gasped, shaking Bucky, an almost manic look in his eyes. “Come on, _come on_.”

Bucky stumbled back, dragging his metal hand over his mouth, trying to catch his breath, already painfully hard. Tony was frantically working with the bots, borderline shouting at them about how he’d designed the thing to come off, cursing under his breath, until finally he was free of the armor.

If Tony had been heavier, the air would have been knocked out of Bucky with the force of the body slamming into his, but he managed to hold his ground, staggering but not moving as he caught Tony up in his arms, crying out at the feeling of him there.

“You asshole,” he growled, the words lost as Tony crushed their mouths together again, tongue teasing its way past Bucky’s lips, thrusting against his own. “So worried,” he managed, lifting Tony off of the ground, kissing him again and again.

“I’m okay,” Tony swore, moaning softly into Bucky’s mouth. He was shaking in Bucky’s arms, was digging his fingers into Bucky’s back, holding on for dear life. “Promised I’d come back to you, didn’t I?”

This time he was the one to whimper, heart singing at Tony’s choice of words. With a little dip and jerk, he shifted Tony up higher, so that he wrapped his legs around Bucky’s waist, arms around his shoulders, clinging to him. “Didn’t know where you were, if you were okay,” he continued, vision blurring again.

Tony must have realized he didn’t need to hold on quite so hard, that Bucky was strong enough to keep him in place with the bionic arm, and so he slid his hands up to cup Bucky’s face in his palms, kissed down into his mouth possessively, tenderly, again and again. “M’sorry,” he murmured as they kissed, “I’ll upgrade the communications, put in redundancies,” he promised, dragging his teeth over Bucky’s lower lip.

He was damp with sweat, trembling, was the most beautiful thing Bucky had ever seen. His pupils were so large his eyes appeared black, was flushed pink everywhere. It seemed almost confusing in the moment, that someone as stunning as Tony would have any interest in him whatsoever. But there he was, in Bucky’s arms, pressed so close that he could feel the hard, unyielding outline of the arc reactor in Tony’s chest digging into his own. And somehow, that made it better, made it safer, and _real_ in a way.

They’d been taken, been tortured, and altered, their places in the world forever changed by their experiences. People might look at them, might see broken men, but they would be so very wrong. Whatever had happened had happened for a reason, had destroyed the man he was, but only so as to help him to become _this man_ , the man whose jagged pieces fit perfectly with Tony’s own, allowing them to form something else entirely.

The love he felt in that moment threatened to overwhelm him, and so he shoved it aside, focused on the lust, on his body and Tony’s body, on the waves of heat coming off of him. The hot, teasing slide of tongue. The soft, desperate little noises Tony was making as he touched and stroked everywhere he could reach, trying to push aside Bucky’s clothes.

“Couch,” Tony demanded, digging his heels into Bucky as if spurring on a horse. He grunted, grabbed a fistful of Tony’s hair and tugged, licked up and along his throat before sucking at the skin, drawing blood to the surface. He shifted him up and over his shoulder before heading for the couch as requested.

Tony moaned loudly when Bucky dropped him down on the couch, rocked back against the cushions, legs splayed, scrambling to prop himself up again while reaching for Bucky. “Stupid clothes,” he stammered, making a sound somewhere between laughter and a sob when Bucky all but ripped off his tuxedo shirt, buttons flying across the room as he got it out of the way before moving on to undo his belt.

“Fuck, I want to come all over you,” Tony announced dazedly, grabbing his hips and surging forward so that he could lick and suck his way across Bucky’s abdomen. “Mine and yours, just _cover_ you in it, lick you clean again after.”

Bucky’s hips jerked involuntarily, cock throbbing in response to the mental image that came with Tony’s words. He worked his fingers into Tony’s hair, petting and stroking. Dragged his thumb down over Tony’s cheek, then his lower lip, chest heaving as Tony sucked it into his mouth, looked up at him through long, dark lashes. He made a soft, hungry sound at the feeling of Tony’s tongue flicking across the pad of his thumb, working it against his soft palate, eyes fluttering closed.

Tony's hands roamed over Bucky's body, stroking, grasping, tracing the muscles of his abdomen, of his chest, fingertips brushing across Bucky's nipples. Everywhere Tony touched felt like it was alive in a way his body had never been before. He needed to touch him back, needed to feel Tony's skin against his own or he might die from the wanting.

He pulled his thumb free from Tony's mouth, captivated by the hungry look on his upturned face. Tony's eyes were darting around, as if he was cataloging every exposed bit of Bucky. Considering the number of ugly, vicious scars on his body, it was difficult wrapping his mind around the understanding that Tony didn’t mind, acted almost like they weren’t there.

Trying to push his insecurities aside, Bucky refocused on Tony, bent over and grabbed him almost roughly by the chin in order to tilt his head up to kiss him again. They swayed back and forth like that for a moment, Tony trying and failing to yank Bucky down onto the couch with him as their lips met again and again.

Finally, Bucky got a fistful of the back of Tony's shirt, yanking up, catching him off guard. With a yelp, Tony raised his arms, and blinked stupidly after his head was pulled clear, tank top coming off along with the top half of the flightsuit so that he was naked from the waist up.

"Right, clothes, clothes are bad," he gushed.

Belt already undone, Bucky unzipped and pulled open the fly of his pants, shoved at the fabric while kicking off his shoes, and toeing off his socks. Once he was down to his boxers, he finally took note of Tony struggling to work the zippers of the lower half of his flight suit, getting nowhere since he was too focused on the obvious bulge in Bucky's underwear.

"Holy shit, this is happening," Tony whispered, looking up into Bucky’s eyes as if for confirmation. "If I wake up and this is a wet dream..."

Bucky pinched Tony's cheek gently. "Not dreaming."

Tony laughed, and it made Bucky's heart slam against his ribcage, prompted him to settle on his knees between Tony's legs, take his face in his hands, and bring their foreheads together. One deep, shuddering breath after another, trying to take it all in, just be in the moment without…

"Hey," Tony whispered, giving up on his pants so as to stroke along Bucky's shoulders, and then down his back. Fingers teased across his cheeks, pushed his hair back from his forehead, traced his lips. "Yeah, come here, I've got you, Buck, I'm right here."

With a sigh, Bucky allowed himself to be pulled into an embrace, pressed himself against Tony’s chest, not even sure why it all felt so overwhelming all of a sudden. Soft kisses were scattered along his shoulder, up the curve of his neck, then back down again, and he found himself turning to meet the kiss Tony was waiting to give him. And this time it was less frantic, more tender, a soft, sensual play of lips that left him shaking.

"Gonna make you feel so good," Tony promised, lips brushing against Bucky’s as he spoke.

“Already have,” Bucky confessed, ducking his head a bit to nuzzle Tony’s ear, breathing deeply, contentedly. The taste of Tony was on his lips, the scent of him hanging heavy in the air. The slide of Tony’s skin against his own made Bucky feel drunk in the best possible way, his head swimming. “Was dead inside until I met you.”

At his words, Tony tensed in his arms, wriggled until he could see Bucky’s eyes again. Pressed together as they were, the blue glow of the reactor seemed especially strong, bits of light and color reflecting back, adding to the surreality of the moment. Tony was searching for something, maybe even found what he was looking for; Bucky certainly wasn’t trying to hide anything.

“How long’s it been?” Tony asked quietly.

Bucky blinked at him, uncertain of how to answer. How long since he’d had sex? Since he’d been in love? Since someone had touched him to bring him pleasure, rather than pain? Since he'd felt like his body was his own, to use as he wished?

Really, the answer to all of those questions was the same; too long. Much, much too long.

It seemed strange to be scared of something he wanted so badly, but that was the reality of the thing. He was terrified he might hurt Tony somehow, which he supposed was understandable. There were still times when he was surprised by his own strength, when he looked at his hands and was convinced he could see blood beneath his fingernails. His time with the KGB had potentially forever corrupted some vital part of him. Giving and receiving pain was more familiar; violence was more _natural_ than pleasure.

The panic must have been in his eyes, because Tony dragged the backs of his fingers along Bucky’s cheek, a gentle caress, and he exhaled shakily. “Let me take care of you, Bucky,” he whispered. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation.

Tony licked his lips, pressed a kiss to Bucky’s forehead. “What do you like?”

He swallowed, thought of lying beside Tony in bed, coming all over himself in a hot rush just from being so close to him. There were things his body wanted, but he was almost afraid to ask for them. Tony must have caught onto the internal struggle, though, because he stroked down along the side of Bucky’s face again, along his neck, his shoulder, down his arm, tangled their fingers together.

Leaning closer, Tony kissed him softly, brought both of their hands to the front of Bucky’s shorts. He jerked at the contact, hissing with pleasure, fingers twitching against Tony’s own. Despite his mind being all over the place, he was _so fucking hard_ , and those were _Tony’s fingers_ skating along his length.

Tony dragged his lips along Bucky’s jaw, pressing kiss after kiss there as he made his way over to his ear. He exhaled warmly, sending a shiver of pleasure through Bucky’s body, while also dragging his fingers over the outline of Bucky’s cockhead through his shorts. He moaned loudly, throbbed against Tony’s hand.

“What’d you think about the last time you touched yourself?” Tony asked in a hot rush against his ear.

“You,” Bucky gasped, reaching down to grab Tony’s ass, squeeze it. This time it was Tony’s turn to moan. “The other morning. I was showering, and you let yourself in…”

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Tony groaned. He curled his fingers around Bucky, stroked him through his shorts, just the right side of rough. “You were jerking off when I came in?”

Bucky sucked at the skin below Tony’s ear, dragging his tongue back and forth over his pulse point, reveling in the salty taste. “Was _trying_ to. Had to stop, didn’t I?”

Tony shook in his arms, his laugh low and intimate, and when he looked at Bucky, his eyes were full of affectionate mischief. He cleared his throat and blinked several times, as if about to make a pronouncement from on high. “I _might_ have had my dick in my hand as soon as humanly possible after that little encounter.”

Bucky grinned, kissed Tony again. “I heard the door lock and wondered.”

“Seriously, I cannot be blamed for my behavior. You were all wet, with that body looking like something Michelangelo carved from marble—fucking _breathtaking_ , Buck—and then you go and drop the towel and shimmy into your pants commando style? Seriously, if you haven’t seen it, I’ll take you to Florence and show you _David’s_ ass. He’s got nothing on you.”

It was strange to find himself blushing, the compliment catching him off guard. Tony obviously meant it, was watching him to see his reaction. Feeling bold, he licked his lips, and tugged at Tony’s lower lip with his teeth. “Just the thought of you touching yourself had me hard,” he admitted, letting go of himself in order to brush his fingers over the front of Tony’s pants.

There was no denying the heat in their kiss, but it felt far more controlled this time, less dangerous, less likely to consume Bucky. He wrapped his arms around Tony, content to hold him close, kiss him again and again. When Tony pulled away, he was grinning, his eyes hooded.

“What did you think of while in the shower?” he asked shyly.

Tony smiled, lowered his eyes, then looked back up through his lashes. “Might have spent quite a bit of time thinking about that perfect ass of yours,” he admitted huskily. He rocked his hips, rubbing himself against Bucky’s hardon, while chewing on his lower lip. “Thinking ‘bout how tight you’d be, and, um, wondering what you’d taste like. What kind of noises you make while getting fucked.”

Bucky shuddered, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment before snapping back open again. Tony was watching him now. The times he’d had sex with a man, he’d always been on the other side of the scenario, curious, but without a steady partner he’d trusted enough to try with. He’d had fingers up there, and always enjoyed the sensation, but it’d never gone farther than that. And while his dick throbbed eagerly at the idea of burying himself in Tony’s ass, Bucky had no idea if they’d ever have another chance to do this. The thought of Tony being the first and only person to fuck him was too appealing to resist.

“Want that,” he whispered, swallowing and trying to catch his breath. “Wanna feel you inside me.” He reached up to brush his thumb over Tony’s lower lip again, the metal reflecting back the pink of his skin, of his mouth, the blue of the reactor. “Want your mouth, too,” he continued, brushing back and forth, back and forth, Tony’s tongue darting out to taste the metal. “Just the thought of your lips wrapping around my cock had me ready to come.”

Tony’s eyes fluttered closed, and he made a soft, keening sound. “Oh, fuck yes,” he blurted, shifting his hands between them so as to begin undoing the front of his pants again. “I would _love_ to suck your dick.” His smile had a bit of the maniacal edge back to it. “Make you come down my throat, then fuck you nice and slow.”

Bucky shuddered, lowered his forehead to rest against Tony’s shoulder, the words just _doing_ things to him. He was beginning to worry he’d come in his pants again if they kept talking like this. Needed less and more and…

“But whatever we do—whatever we’re ever doing—you tell me if we need to stop, okay?” Tony asked, grabbing him, lifting his head back up so as to look in his eyes again. “This is only good for me if it’s good for you. We can take breaks, stop altogether, just kiss, or whatever you need. Promise me, Bucky.”

He nodded, licked his lips. “Promise.”

Tony smiled, then patted the couch next to him. Bucky shifted, stood up and then sat back down, the front of his pants tented almost comically. Tony was eyeing the bulge hungrily, but managed to actually get his flightsuit pants off this time, working them down over his hips, revealing a pair of underwear with the name Calvin Klein on them for some reason.

Bucky didn’t waste much brainpower trying to figure it out, more focused on Tony’s cock. He was as hard as Bucky was, the thin white fabric stretched taut over his dick. Unable to help himself, he reached out and traced the outline of it, stroked once or twice, watching Tony’s face as he did so. His mouth fell open, lips shiny and wet, his face flushed beautifully. Bucky stroked again, licking his lips, admiring the way it curved up and over Tony’s hip. There was a large damp spot right at Tony’s cockhead, the fabric sticking to him there, almost translucent, so he could make out the dark flush of skin beneath.

“That feels good,” Tony moaned, pushing up against Bucky’s curious fingers. He was watching, studying, his eyes at half mast, lips curled in a smile. “See how much I want you?”

“Yes,” Bucky sighed, meeting Tony halfway for another kiss. He kept touching Tony through his underwear, achingly hard, unable to stop wondering how it would feel. Being stretched wide, having Tony buried inside of him. “Can I take my shorts off?”

“Oh my god, yes,” Tony laughed, kissing him again. “I’m dying to see your dick. If it looks anything as good as it feels through your clothes, I might _actually_ cry. Happy tears, of course, very, _very_ happy tears.”

Bucky snorted and shook his head, and without any preamble yanked his underwear out of the way, sighing in relief as his erection bobbed in front of him, finally free of fabric, and that much closer to Tony’s mouth. For his part, Tony was staring, chewing on that plump lower lip of his, stroking himself as he took it all in.

Tony exhaled loudly through his mouth, blinking a few times before looking back up at Bucky. “Okay, so, I am officially _astounded_ by how fucking gorgeous you are naked,” he announced, running a hand over his face. He was already shifting on the couch, turning so he could get a hand around Bucky, and that was just…

“Fuck, Tony,” he gasped, falling back against the cushions, spreading his legs.

“Oh my god, you have no idea how hot this is,” he heard Tony say through the haze of pleasure.

“Been years since anyone,” Bucky stammered, moaning loudly as Tony began slowly jerking him off. He forced his eyes back open, found Tony leaning over him, looking down hungrily at where his hand was curled around Bucky.

Tony’s chest heaved as he swept his thumb over the head of Bucky’s cock, smearing the wetness around, and around, and then down. Bucky panted loudly, soft, desperate sounds, as his hips jerked helplessly. “I like having my hair played with while sucking dick,” Tony said. “Feel free to tug it, pet it, twirl it, whatever. Just don’t shove my head down, okay? I want to see how much of you I can take before my gag reflex kicks in.”

Bucky nodded, unable to get his mouth to work.

“Good. Here, scootch to the edge, and… yeah, baby, perfect,” Tony instructed, climbing off the couch to kneel between Bucky’s thighs.

And that was a little mind blowing there, watching Tony wrap a hand back around the base of his cock to hold him steady before bringing his mouth up to the head. It was like his fantasy all over again, only a thousand times better, because it was _happening_. It felt like he was on _fire_ , his cock already flushed an angry shade of red, veins standing out even more now that Tony was gripping him tightly, stroking him, leaning closer, and closer, and then…

“Fuck, Tony,” he moaned, watching as his cock twitched.

His cockhead was shiny, wet, dribbling precome, which seemed just fine with Tony, who swiped his tongue through it all, gathering it up, and humming to himself in pleasure before sliding his lips around the head of Bucky’s cock. It took every ounce of self control he had not to grab the back of Tony’s head and just fuck himself right up into the heat of his mouth.

Instead, he chanted profanity under his breath, and grabbed Tony’s hair, not trying to guide his movements, or restrict him in any way. Just tugging gently, running his shaking fingers through it while gasping, and sucking in air.

“Watch you don’t hyperventilate,” Tony suggested, and this time he worked quite a bit more of Bucky into his mouth.

“Beautiful,” Bucky managed to stammer, hypnotized by the sight of it, overwhelmed by the feeling.

Tony’s tongue teased him as he worked up and down Bucky’s length, taking a bit more each time, his cheeks hollowed, a look of blissed out determination on his face. His mouth was _exquisite_. Tony slid him along the inside of his cheek, the roof of his mouth, sucking and bobbing, and making the most amazing noises while doing it. He found himself with his head thrown back, just moaning over and over again when Tony slowly took the head of his cock into the back of his throat and started swallowing, lips still only meeting the top of his fist.

He was gorgeous, almost to the point of being painful to look at, so Bucky kept telling him how perfect he was, how good he felt, how pretty he looked, with his long dark lashes, and Bucky’s cock in his mouth.

“Mm, fuck, you’re officially the biggest cock I’ve ever had the pleasure to suck,” Tony groaned, coming up for air. His cheeks were bright red, his lips flushed, and dark as he dragged them over and over the head of Bucky’s cock, wiggling his tongue against the slit, moaning contentedly.

Bucky grabbed him, pulled him up into another kiss, then another, thrusting up into Tony’s fist, which hadn’t stop pumping his dick.

“Anyone ever lick your asshole before?” He felt himself flush, shook his head, and Tony grinned. “It’s a little weird at first. I want to start opening you up, because I gotta be honest, I’m so fucking hard right now I’m worried I’m gonna come in my pants just from sucking your dick.”

“ _Need_ you to fuck me,” Bucky stuttered, crying out as Tony let go of him.

“Believe me, baby, I want that as much as you do. More, maybe, I dunno. Give me a sec, okay? We’re going to want lube, and I’d rather grab it now. Luckily for that mouthwatering ass of yours, I spend most of my time down here, and I am not a fan of jerking off without a little lubrication, so…”

Tony winked at him and scampered through the workshop, yanking open a drawer and rummaging through it for a moment before pulling out a bottle and holding it in the air triumphantly. Bucky laughed as Tony ran back as if he was being chased, slapping the bottle onto the couch and grinning happily.

“Okay, question. Are you a one and done kind of guy? Some people get too sensitive, and the idea of coming more than once isn't fun."

Bucky licked his lips, trying to concentrate on the question. It was difficult what with the way Tony was gently lapping at the leaking head of his cock while talking. "Mm. Not sure. Happy to find out."

"Fair enough," Tony conceded. "So, you feel like you're ready to pop." He sucked greedily at the head while stroking him, and Bucky could actually _see_ himself throbbing in Tony's hand.

"Understatement," he gasped, dragging metal fingers along Tony's cheek.

The smile this earned him was wicked. "So, how about I take care of that for you? Then you'll be nice and relaxed while I get you ready. Unless you'd rather I back off a bit, let you get it under control? You can always come with my fingers in your ass, or I could just jerk you off. Whatever you want, Bucky."

Bucky's balls tightened, and he made another of those unrecognizable distressed sounds. "Your mouth," he blurted, in awe of the excitement shining in Tony's eyes.

"Mm, yeah, I like the sound of that," he murmured, twisting his fist up and down Bucky's cock in a corkscrew motion.

Tony’s hand was sliding easily thanks to all the spit and precome, Bucky’s dick slick, and shiny. Each time Tony reached the head he squeezed, did something with his thumb that had Bucky’s thighs shaking. It wasn’t just the feeling of him, though, it was seeing Tony kneeling there, seemingly mesmerized, eyes glassy as he watched the movement of his hand.

"Do you like to watch? I can pull back at the end, so you can see yourself shooting into my mouth." In response, Bucky's cock throbbed almost painfully in Tony's hand, his hips jerking, balls feeling heavy. Tony grinned wickedly. "I like that, too. Okay. Here we go."

And with that Bucky found himself sucked back into the wet inferno that was Tony's mouth, whimpering again and again as his fist pumped, and his cheeks hollowed, and then Tony's other hand starting playing with his balls and Bucky's entire body tensed up as if he'd been electrocuted.

He hardly recognized the sound he made, a choked off shout of pleasure or pain, as he finally reached his release. Bucky held onto the couch for dear life, struggled to keep his eyes open, blinking rapidly as he felt himself beginning to come. There was Tony, hand still stroking, milking Bucky through his orgasm, moaning wantonly as his tongue was splattered with thick ribbons of come.

It felt like he might never stop, and he'd definitely never recover from the sight of himself emptying into Tony's mouth. He was breathtaking in that moment, watching Bucky as if _he_ was the beautiful one, making contented little noises, his breathing heavy, looking absolutely blissed out. He was murmuring, "yeah, baby," and, "give it to me," while Bucky kept coming, so that it dribbled down over his chin, into his beard, coated his fingers.

Tony slowed the movement of his fist, began licking his lips as Bucky's orgasm finally finished, leaving him a shaking, boneless mess on the couch. His limbs felt heavy, his eyes wanted to close, but he kept them open, managed to reach out and stroke Tony's cheek.

"That was so fucking hot," Tony gasped, sucking his fingers clean, grinning up at Bucky. "You taste good, by the way, and—"

With a grunt, Bucky managed to heave himself up enough to get his mouth against Tony's. It was a sloppy, gentle kiss, Bucky slipping his tongue along Tony's lips, sliding into his mouth, tasting himself there. Carefully, he tried his best to lick Tony clean. His dick twitched in response, while he moaned into Tony's mouth.

When he pulled back, Tony was watching him almost shyly. "Liked that, huh?"

The question was so ridiculous that Bucky just burst out laughing, not sure how else to respond. Tony appeared to be exceptionally pleased with himself though, especially when Bucky collapsed back against the cushions with a sigh.

"There you go, just relax, pumpkin," Tony cooed, grabbing a pillow from the couch and tucking it under his own knees. He'd been kneeling on the floor for some time, and Bucky remembered how cold and unyielding the workshop floor was.

"I can move," Bucky offered, tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth.

"I'm good." Tony was running his hands along the outside of his thighs, then up the backs of his calves, nudging his legs apart, and smiling up at him. "Just shift forward a little bit more," he asked, leaning forward to nuzzle his hip. "There you go. Perfect. Remember, if you need me to stop..."

Bucky managed to lift his hand, scrubbed it through Tony's hair affectionately, then dragged his fingers down over Tony's face, shiny fingertips pressing at his lips to silence him. And then he relaxed, heart rate slowing, body still singing with the afterglow. He murmured his approval as kisses were pressed at the seam of his hip, Tony slowly working his way down to Bucky's balls, pausing to lap at them a few times, roll them in his palm. He could already feel his body struggling to respond, despite being sensitive.

“Do me a favor?” Tony curled a hand around his ankle, tugged a little bit. “Just hook this leg up over the arm of the couch. Yeah, there you go.”

Settling back down, Bucky snagged a pillow and propped himself up on it. He felt exposed with his legs spread so wide, but there was something exciting about the feeling. Tony humming his appreciation and caressing him took the edge off the nervous vulnerability threatening to return.

Bucky stared up at the ceiling, blinking, his thoughts colliding lazily in his mind. It was a struggle to concentrate, but he was trying, wanted to focus on Tony, and the pleasure thrumming through his body. He wasn't sure why, but feeling _so good_ had him worried in a way he hadn't expected.

He'd opened his mouth, maybe to ask if Tony ever felt the same, but the words came out in a strangled groan of surprise. Tony had tentatively wiggled the tip of his tongue against his asshole, and it was nothing at all like he'd expected it to feel. This was followed by a more purposeful lick, then several little laps, and in his mind Bucky could see again the way Tony's tongue had licked the head of his cock earlier.

Exhaling loudly, Bucky spread his legs further apart, tilting his hips up a bit without thinking, just wanting _more_. Tony made a throaty sound of approval, breath hot against his skin, and then his tongue was back again, licking more insistently this time. Bucky could feel the light scratch of Tony's beard against sensitive skin, a surprisingly enjoyable contrast to the wet, wicked heat of his tongue. It was far more intimate feeling than when Tony had been sucking his cock, and Bucky struggled to prop himself up more so that he could see, wanting to witness what was happening.

Only, that was overwhelming, seeing Tony's messy dark hair, his eyes hooded, as he spread Bucky's asscheeks further apart and dived in again and again, so that he could only just make out pink flashes of Tony’s tongue. Kissing, _sucking_ , moaning, all while Bucky trembled beneath him. He could actually feel the tight ring of muscle loosening, opening up for Tony, while his cock began to stir against his stomach, showing a definite interest in what was happening.

Tony was going to fuck him. He'd said he would, but now Bucky found himself excited for it in a way he hadn't thought possible. Impatient, even, feeling empty where he hadn't ever before, and needing Tony to fill him up, make him whole again. Inane as that sounded even thinking it, the sentiment was still true.

He reached between his legs and began playing with Tony's hair, tugging and petting and stroking. All the while, Tony hummed contentedly, had managed to get the tip of his tongue _into_ Bucky, and it was all too much and not enough all over again. He tugged on the dark fistful of hair he was holding, pulling Tony up for a moment, shocked by the hungry, desperate look in those brown eyes.

"Need me to stop?" Tony sounded breathless.

Bucky shook his head, struggled to get his mouth to work. He _definitely_ didn't want to stop, he just needed something _more_. Tony was watching him closely, smiled shyly, pressing his face into Bucky's hand. He hadn't even realized he was petting him.

"Need to feel you inside me," he managed. Tony growled in response, hand dipping out of sight, presumably to stroke his cock.

"Fingers first," he answered, sucking one into his mouth. "Want to make sure I can just slide right into you, nice and slow and deep."

He was so captivated with watching Tony’s mouth form the words that Bucky didn’t notice him moving. A wrecked, choked off wail clawed its way out from deep in his belly, as Tony slipped his spit slick finger inside without any effort at all, as if it was meant to be there. Blood pounded its way down to his cock, even as he pushed against the intrusion, imagining he could actually feel the friction ridges of Tony’s finger from the inside.

"Yeah, there you go," Tony sighed, kissing the inside of his thigh again, eyes wide as he thrust his finger in and out of Bucky’s ass. " _Look at you_. This is so much better than my fantasy, gotta tell you."

Bucky licked his lips, captivated by what he was seeing, struggling to keep his eyes open so he didn’t miss a moment. Tony was pink in the face, licking and sucking around his finger now, which was amazing, but he couldn't help but want _more_. Even with his fingers buried inside of him, Tony felt so far away. Bucky wanted to be able to touch him, kiss him, hold onto him, wanted to touch his cock—hell, see it without fabric in the way—wanted to taste him, wanted _everything_.

"Tony," he moaned, feeling feverish and uncertain of how to express what he was feeling.

Immediately, the finger slipped free, and he made a distressed sound, which only prompted Tony to stop everything altogether, returning to the gentle petting of before. "Please don't stop," Bucky begged, surprised by the desperate edge to his voice.

Tony pushed himself up so that he was half draped over Bucky, and that was so much better. He sighed his relief, and wrapped his arms and legs around Tony, giving a weak smile when he found concerned brown eyes watching him.

"Take your time," Tony whispered, kissing Bucky's sternum. "Tell me what you need."

Bucky sucked air in through his teeth, arching up against Tony on the exhale, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "M'not used to feeling good," he blurted, not sure why he was embarrassed by this confession. "Want to... _need_ to anchor myself."

“I get it.”

Tony stopped supporting so much of his weight, so that he was pressing Bucky down into the couch with his own body. Slowly, Tony rocked them together while sucking at his neck, teeth teasing the skin as he left a trail of wet, open mouthed kisses. Bucky dragged his fingers up along the nape of Tony’s neck, into his hair again, petting and tugging, cock throbbing where it was trapped between them. Unable to help himself, he made a soft keening sound, thrust up against Tony’s stomach, reveled in the feeling of the arc reactor pressing into his own chest, which prompted Tony to gasp, and shift ever so slightly. Suddenly, he had the thick outline of Tony’s cock nestled against his ass, and shuddered with pleasure. That was what he needed; the feeling of Tony everywhere

“Ты такой безупречный[10],” he gasped, because Tony _was_ perfect, he was the very definition of the word.

“Mm, I’m going to get up for a moment, but only so we can do some repositioning. Stretch out lengthwise for me, okay, and I’ll slot in right next to you.”

“Naked?” Bucky asked, biting down hard into his lower lip.

Tony chuckled at this, disentangling himself from Bucky, all but jumping to his feet. Bucky kept his eyes locked on Tony as he scrambled to shift his position on the couch, holding his breath in anticipation. “I’m not as big as you, but I’ve never had any complaints,” he announced as he hooked his thumb in the waistband of his underwear.

There was no mistaking it as anything other than a tease as he slowly worked the fabric down, down, down, Bucky sucking in lungfuls of air as Tony’s cock finally popped free of its confines. And no, Tony wasn’t as large, but he was _thick_ , hard cock jutting out as if wanting to get closer to Bucky, dark and flushed and leaking. Tony took himself in hand, pumped once, twice, and Bucky moaned, wanted to smack Tony’s hand away, replace it with his own.

Propping himself up on his elbow, Bucky leaned closer, hooked his free hand behind Tony’s thigh and tugged, so he stumbled, had to lean over and grab the back of the couch to keep himself from falling. It was no accident that this happened to bring him close enough for Bucky to suck the head of his cock into his mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” Tony cried out, hips jerking reflexively, so that he thrust into Bucky’s mouth. “Yeah, okay, _fuck_ , Bucky, that’s… _oh my god_ , that’s so gorgeous, just… suck it a bit, yeah, like that, baby. You feel _so good_.”

Bucky groaned around Tony’s cock, sucking it down hungrily, even as he wrapped a hand around himself and began stroking. The stretch of his lips was heaven, as was the _taste_ , and the hard, silky, slickness of Tony. And if it felt this good in his mouth…

Tony might have been thinking the same thing, because he pulled back, so that his cock slid free of Bucky’s mouth with an obscene, wet pop. “I need to fuck you,” he gasped, swallowing and running a hand over his face. “And—unlike you, apparently—I won’t be able to get it up right away. Some of us need a little more recovery time.”

Bucky nodded, shifted to make more room on the couch, sighing in relief as Tony joined him, but not before grabbing the lube. As soon as possible, Tony was kissing him again, sloppy and just the right side of rough, all while doing some manhandling to get Bucky in a better position. He wound up with one thigh between Tony’s, and the other hooked up almost entirely over his shoulder. It was a wonder he didn’t crush Tony beneath him, but the smaller man wasn't complaining in the least. Neither was Bucky, for that matter; the new arrangement meant they could kiss hungrily, while Tony rocked his hips, sliding his dick against Bucky.

“Gonna finger you some more,” Tony said against his lips, eyes searching Bucky’s for permission.

That was more than okay by him. “Two, this time?”

Tony blinked, grinned, and he heard a distant popping sound as the cap was opened on the bottle of lube. “You’re a dream come true,” Tony babbled, diving back in with his mouth, kissing him again and again. “Okay, two it is. I can go back to one if it’s too much.”

“Won’t be,” Bucky promised him, resting his forehead against Tony’s.

He stared into Tony’s eyes, panting as slick fingers teased against him, drawing circles, a tip pressing in only to skate away, until he could feel his brow beginning to forrow, the desperation threatening to return. But Tony saw it there—saw everything—and Bucky could only cry out in relief as two fingers slipped inside of him. Tony’s eyes widened, and he curled his fingers while thrusting them deeper into his ass, and that was… was…

“Fuck, _Tony_ ,” he all but shouted, jerking in his arms. He shuddered, felt himself begin to sweat, could only squirm in Tony’s arms, desperate to rub up against him, to push back onto his fingers. Eyes fluttering closed despite attempting to keep them open, he reveled in the sensation of being kissed again, of feeling Tony’s cock bumping up against his own as he worked his slippery fingers in and out of Bucky’s ass.

“Yeah, there you go,” Tony hissed against his lips. Bucky held on for dear life, licked along Tony’s neck and shoulder, pressed his face there as he lost himself to it all. “Let go, baby, I got you, gonna take such good care of you.” Tony babbled on like that, soothing endearments, and encouragement, periodically pushing his fingers against Bucky’s prostate, making him wild.

He had no idea how long they spent like that, only knew the sting from taking the third finger simply made everything feel that much better, as if by working through the initial discomfort he was earning his pleasure. And once Tony had four fingers inside of him, he couldn’t _think_ anymore, could only shake, and pant, and stare at him in wonder.

“Fuck me,” he gasped, feeling himself spasm around Tony’s fingers. “Please, please, please,” he added, in case it would help.

The absence of fingers left him crying out in frustration, twitching, trying to clamp down on nothingness, desperate to feel full again. “Oh, fuck, yes, _now_ , Bucky,” Tony wailed, and Bucky wondered what he must look like. Blissed out, flushed and sweating and desperate for Tony in the way he’d never been for anyone or anything else in his pathetically painful life. “On your back, baby.”

Slick hands took hold of his hips, helped move him into a better position, while he pressed a hand to his face, pumped the other furiously over his dick, unable to help himself.

“Look at me.”

And that took _effort_ , but he did it, dragged himself back to the surface, Tony coming into focus above him, looking wild and beautiful. Tony was holding his cock in his hand, was getting it all slick, teeth biting down into his lower lip. Once he saw Bucky was watching, he smiled, bright and wide open, and Bucky’s heart _sang_ at the sight.

“You with me?”

“Я твой[11],” he stuttered, surprised when Tony’s eyes went wide.

Bucky didn’t have a chance to ask if Tony had understood the Russian, the entire idea of words and language slipping away, becoming unnecessary as he felt Tony begin to drag the slick head of his cock back and forth, back and forth, teasing him with it, all while watching him hungrily. Bucky took a deep breath through his nose, then reached down and grabbed the backs of his thighs, pulled his legs up, spread himself wider, his exhale a long, low groan of pleasure. _Finally_ , Tony began pushing at him with the blunt head of his cock, looking surprised when Bucky relaxed, and he suddenly found himself thrusting deeper than he’d intended.

“Bucky,” Tony wailed, staring down at himself. Bucky tried to look too, could only hold his head up for a couple seconds at time in order to watch Tony slowly disappearing inside of him. “Oh fuck, _you’re_ the one who's perfect.”

It hurt beautifully, his ass spasming around Tony’s cock as he desperately fought his body’s response to the intrusion, to release and relax and open himself to Tony. He hadn’t moved, was shaking above him, a hand still around his dick, and one rubbing soothing circles against Bucky’s thigh. He’d almost gone mad from Tony’s fingers, which were nothing compared to the thick, heavy weight of his cock. Bucky was pretty sure he was going to lose his mind before they were through, could feel tears prickling the corners of his eyes, more from relief than anything else.

But Tony still hadn’t moved, was trembling against him, feeling impossibly large. And it hurt, but not like any pain he’d ever experienced before. This was _transformative_ , and in a strange moment of euphoric clarity Bucky was grateful for everything the KGB had done to his life, as if the torture, the loneliness, the dead ache of his heart had all been done only so he would recognize _this moment_ for what it was.

“More,” he gasped, eyes rolling into the back of his head, only to cry out loudly when Tony did as he asked, sinking a little deeper. He hardly recognized himself as he was reduced to a shaking, wild thing, chanting _yes_ over and over as if it was his mantra, needing to have all of Tony inside of him before he went mad.

Seconds or minutes or hours passed, slipped through the fingers of his awareness. The world was reduced to him, slowly opening to Tony, welcoming him home, until finally, _finally_ , there was nowhere left to go. Drunk on sensation, Bucky reached for Tony, managed to crush their mouths together for a moment, then settled for holding onto him.

“M’good,” he promised, trying to move, _needing_ Tony to move inside of him.

“Good, great.” Tony was breathing heavily, shaking atop him. “Give me a second. Wanna… oh, yeah, last more than five minutes. This is just… You’re _so tight_ , you have no idea.”

Slowly—agonizingly, perfectly slowly—Tony pulled back, slid himself free, leaving Bucky crying out, twitching and empty again. He made a frustrated noise while watching Tony coat himself with a bit more lube, finally able to breath again once he pushed back inside, started pumping his hips, shallow, maddening little thrusts. Each jerking movement of his hips had him deeper, and all Bucky could do was wail with pleasure, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

The world, his tortured past, the current mess Tony had landed him in; it all ceased to exist. The only thing that mattered was being stretched wide, filled and remade by Tony’s cock. Any pain or discomfort had long since subsided, so that he found himself jerking his hips, trying to take Tony deeper.

“Ты сводишь меня с ума![12]”

Tony drove him crazy, alright, was driving him right out of his mind, because he hadn’t even realized he was speaking, was so far gone that the Russian sounded stilted, and nothing like him at all. Bucky’s eyes snapped back open, and he found Tony watching him with a shy intensity. His breath stuttered in his chest as he came to the sudden realization that it had been _Tony_ speaking, his accent imperfect, but beautiful.

“You speak Russian?”

The same smile, made all the more surreal as it was accompanied by a particularly deep thrust, the head of Tony’s cock nailing his prostate, sending him slamming his hips down, hungry for more. “Seems to be... ah.. the case. Not as well as you, but… oh, fuck, you really do drive me crazy, Bucky. So beautiful, the way you just opened up for me? Unbelievable.”

Bucky laughed, sounding drunk, or slightly out of his mind, the sound punctuated by the slap of skin on skin as Tony began fucking him in earnest. He squeezed himself around Tony’s cock, dragging more profanity and noises of pleasure out of his lover, reached down between them, lifting his balls out of the way. Tony grabbed his ankles, began pumping in and out of Bucky’s ass, still relatively slow, but deeper now, crying out as Bucky brushed his fingertips over where Tony’s cock was sliding into him.

“Holy shit, that’s hot,” Tony panted.

Bucky grinned, dragged his fingers back and forth, getting them slick with lube before grabbing his cock again. If the noises Tony made were any indication, he thoroughly approved of the turn of events, eyes hooded and dreamy as he watched Bucky stroking himself roughly in time with Tony’s thrusts.

He hadn’t known _anything_ could feel so good. Sex had _never_ been like this, like he was dying and being brought back to life over and over again. Bucky stared up at Tony’s flushed face, captivated by the way his hair was matted to his head with sweat, and all the muscles of his shoulders and arms taut, and shining.

When his mouth opened, it was Russian again, a steady little stream of endearments and encouragement, not always making sense, but Bucky didn’t care, not in the least. Incongruous or not, speaking and hearing English still felt foreign to him, and so hearing Tony’s choked, stuttered Russian was _beautifully_ intimate.

Each thrust of Tony’s cock dragged a whimper from Bucky, until he was reduced to a trembling, wailing wreck, the sound transforming into a staccato of pleasure as Tony fucked him harder. Full, stretched, struggling for air, to spread himself wider, to take Tony deeper, even as he fucked his fist, balls aching.

“Wanna be inside you when you come,” Tony sighed, changing the angle of his thrusts. Bucky’s hand lost its rhythm for a moment, fist jerking rapidly over the swollen head of his cock, already feeling ready to come again. Tony wasn’t pulling any punches, was nailing his prostate on each thrust, leaving him seeing stars. “Feel you,” he continued, voice low, and husky. “Can’t believe how hard you are already. Look at you, so beautiful. Perfect. Yeah, don’t stop, baby, I wanna see you come all over yourself.”

“Oh, fuck, oh Tony,” Bucky cried. He was distantly aware of the tears streaming down his face, trickling back behind his ears and into his sweat soaked hair. He was a shaking, shuddering mess, but it was also the most _alive_ he had ever felt.

“Go on, you can do it.” Tony was sweet talking him now, hammering away inside of him, so that his breath came in little puffs. Tony released his ankle, then wrapped his slick hand around the head of Bucky’s cock, _squeezing_ , so that he was left desperately fucking up into both of their fists, throbbing, aching, impossibly close. “You gonna come for me?”

Tony was gazing down at him as if he was the answer to everything, and it was the look in his eyes more than his cock or his hand that sent Bucky tumbling back over the edge, his entire body tensing before he was crying out in shocked pleasure, splattering his chest and stomach and their hands with thick ribbons of come, ass spasming around Tony’s cock.

“Holy _fuck_ , Bucky,” Tony cried, watching hungrily, still stroking him.

Tony’s vocabulary had apparently been reduced to profanity and Bucky’s name, which was fine. It sort of summed up the situation. He felt _boneless_ , just wrung out in the best possible way, sticky with sweat, and semen, sighing his pleasure when Tony shifted, leaned in close, so that he was sliding in the mess Bucky had made, kissing him again, and again, hips slowing momentarily.

“Next time, you do this to me, okay?” Tony gasped, missing Bucky’s mouth and kissing his chin instead.

“Yes,” he managed to hiss, sliding his hands up to cradle Tony’s beautiful face, drag him in for a proper kiss. “ _Want_ that, Tony. Want _you_. Always.” Tony groaned, his hips jerking forward, and Bucky could _feel_ how close he was, cried out, clamping down around Tony’s hardness. “Know… know you said… wanted to cover me… oh, _fuck_ , Tony, I want you to come _inside_ me.”

Tony whimpered, looking absolutely wrecked as he pushed himself up, fumbling for Bucky’s hand, twining their fingers together. Bucky watched, holding his breath, grinning hard enough that his face hurt as Tony’s eyes lost focus, and his mouth opened in a wordless cry before he shouted, “Oh fuck, _oh Bucky_!”

Beautiful, ragged thrusts, Tony losing control, cock stiffening inside of him before he emptied himself, head thrown back as he keened loudly. Suddenly, it was a lot slicker, messier, and he could feel Tony pulsing inside of him as he came and came. Bucky was there to catch him when he went boneless, wrapped him up safe, rocked him, lowering his legs, settling into a more comfortable position, hands stroking over every bit of skin he could touch. Tony was a heaving mess in his arms, breathing hot and wet against Bucky’s skin, pressing kisses where he could.

“I’ve got you,” Bucky sighed, finding some reserve of strength, tipping Tony’s chin up enough to be able to kiss him again. This earned him a contented sigh, seemed to stir Tony back to life, so that he managed to prop himself up, drag his lips over Bucky’s again and again, making a soft, vulnerable sound with each kiss.

“Yeah, you do.” Tony stared down at him, eyes full of adoration as he pressed a kiss to the tip of Bucky’s nose, laughing. “Oh my god, you so have me for as long as you want. Forever. Fucking hell, Bucky. That was hands down the best sex I’ve ever had.”

He made a sleepy sound of agreement, dragging his hands up along Tony's back, moaning his disappointment as Tony slowly pulled out. “Same.” Tony shifted until he was only half draped on top of Bucky, making contented noises as he caught his breath. “Think this is the most human I’ve felt since enlisting.”

Tony hummed, the sound reverberating pleasantly through Bucky’s chest. “I know what you mean. After… after _everything_ , the idea of getting naked…” Tony cleared his throat, drummed his fingers against Bucky’s chest. “Well, okay, not _just_ nudity. Trust, really. Mostly, the idea of trusting someone not to… to hurt me?”

Bucky stroked Tony’s arm, tightened his grip on the man. “I know.”

Silence stretched out between them, comfortable, yet weighty, until Tony broke the spell. “What do you think S.H.I.E.L.D. is going to do?”

And that was the all important question, the one Bucky had been trying to avoid thinking about since Tony left in the suit.

“Whatever they want,” he answered, staring at the ceiling. “They always have, and they always will.”

* * *

  1. There was and there wasn’t. Equivalent to “Whatever happens, happens.” ↑
  2. You’re so perfect. ↑
  3. I’m yours. ↑
  4. You drive me crazy! ↑




	15. Chapter 15

Bucky closed his eyes, let the hot water run over his head, hands sliding over his face as if he could push aside the need to sleep. He was sore, but the discomfort was already passing, evolving into an ache of emptiness, as if Tony had reshaped him, left his body confused as to what its natural state was meant to be.

As much as he was loathe to wash away the traces of Tony that had been left behind, the shower felt glorious, especially since Tony was doing most of the work for him, humming softly to himself as he lathered Bucky up. Hands slipping and sliding across his body, sneaking between his asscheeks to gently wash him clean. It should have been arousing, but there was a shy sort of sweetness to the touch, as if Tony was lovingly cataloging every inch of him.

And at some point, Tony found his way into Bucky’s arms, the two of them holding each other tightly under the spray of water, swaying together. Depending on how Tony shifted in his arms, the blue glow of the reactor filled the steamy air around them, lending to the surreality of the moment. It was enough to leave his chest feeling tight, packed too full of love for him to be able to take a full breath.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

Tony’s fingers twitched against his skin, his grip tightening, lips brushing against Bucky’s throat as he spoke. “I’m more worried about you. Well, no, specifically I’m worried about _us_. I… I _can’t_ go back into weapons, Buck, and I know they’re going to try to force me.”

The last thing he wanted was for Tony to trade his soul to S.H.I.E.L.D. in order to keep them out of custody. He'd gladly hand himself over rather than let Tony make that deal.

Bucky pressed a kiss to Tony’s forehead, then turned off the water. “If you compromise your morals, you’ll only resent me in the long run. I don’t want the guilt, anyway. Got enough to feel fucked up about. I’d rather let them lock me away and live off of my memories of you.”

Tony grabbed him by the arm, yanking hard, his eyes narrowed and his jaw set. “Don’t talk like that.” The tears welling up in Tony’s eyes were unexpected. “I’ll figure something out, even if something is getting back in the suit and flying the two of us to a deserted island somewhere to live out the rest of our lives eating coconuts on the beach.”

Some of the tension eased out of Tony’s features as Bucky smiled.

“We’re in this together,” Tony insisted, cupping the side of Bucky’s face while staring up at him imploringly. “ _Together_. Right?”

“Til the end of the line.”

Really, there was nothing else to say on the matter; they kissed instead, as if sealing the deal.

It wasn’t until he went to pick it up off the floor that Bucky regretted ripping his shirt off while in the heat of the moment. Tony laughed while watching him try to find a remaining button, then handed over the tanktop he’d worn under his flight suit as a replacement, helping himself to the shirt he’d shed when first heading down into the workshop after the gala.

To Bucky it felt like that was from an evening years before, a lifetime ago, even. He wasn’t the same man he’d been before they’d tumbled into each other’s arms, which was a strange sort of feeling. Sex had never before left him in such a raw, emotional state, but then again, he’d never had sex with anyone he’d cared for nearly half as much as he loved Tony Stark.

He watched Tony go through the motions of getting dressed, feasting on him with his eyes, worried he might never have another chance to observe this ritual. Half of S.H.I.E.L.D. could be waiting for them upstairs, he might find himself immediately taken into custody. Even before Clint made a point of reminding him, Bucky had been well aware of his expendability.

Tony was worth it, though.

It was as if each step that brought them closer to leaving the sanctity of the workshop brought with it another serving of tension, so that by the time they stood shoulder to shoulder in the elevator, Bucky thought he might be crushed by the weight of it all. The gun felt exceptionally heavy at the small of his back as Tony’s fingers brushed against his own, flesh and blood twining with metal, a sharing of strength, a sign of solidarity.

“Remember, whatever’s waiting for us, we’ll figure it out together.” Tony punctuated this proclamation with a fierce kiss, only pulling away as the elevator shuddered to a stop. “Here we go.”

The elevator doors slid open revealing nothing at all. No S.H.I.E.L.D. agents with weapons drawn, waiting to take them into custody. No sign of Hawkeye, either. For some reason, this was more troubling to Bucky than if there’d been a contingent of soldiers waiting for them, others surrounding and occupying the mansion, prepared to confiscate Tony’s flying armor.

“Uh, okay, that was anticlimactic,” Tony announced, sticking his head out of the elevator and looking around. He glanced at Bucky as if to make sure he wasn’t missing something obvious, then walked out into the foyer.

“Jarvis?”

The name echoed through the house, and Bucky had just enough time to fear for the old man’s safety before he made an appearance, looking as crisp and smart as ever. “Good to see you, sir. Was your mission successful?”

“What can I say? It was a blast.” Tony folded his arms across his chest, rocked on his heels while looking around. “What’s new here?”

“Agent Barton has resumed his surveillance. Agent Coulson and Ms. Potts are waiting for you in your study.”

The reaction was almost instantaneous, Tony tensing, bristling with energy, fists clenched at his sides. “Agent Agent is with Pepper? _My_ Pepper?”

“Ms. Potts and Agent Coulson were enjoying a cup of tea when last I checked on them. She seemed quite at ease.”

But Tony was already stalking towards the closed door of his study, leaving Bucky to play catch up once again. He was beginning to think Tony’s idea of facing something together meant rushing headlong into the fray and expecting Bucky to follow.

“...she doing here?” Bucky caught as he reached the doorway. Agent Coulson and Pepper were seated on Tony’s couch, had apparently been passing the time chatting away with tea and biscuits.

“Mr. Stark, so good to see you again,” Phil said, setting aside his tea. The insouciant smile never wavered as he met Bucky’s eyes, gaze lingering on the exposed arm. “Agent Barnes. Hawkeye is waiting for your debrief.”

“Tweety Bird can wait a little longer,” Tony interrupted, hands on his hips. “Pepper?”

Pepper stopped staring at Bucky long enough to aim a world weary sigh at Tony. “Phil seems to be under the impression that you need my help,” she said sweetly, taking a sip of her tea. “I’m still waiting for my martini, by the way.”

“ _Phil_? He’s Phil to you now?”

“Cut the crap, Stark, you’re in a world of trouble, and you know it. Lucky for you, S.H.I.E.L.D. is of the opinion that your value just increased tenfold. As a sign of good faith, we’re leaving the weapon in your hands—”

“It’s not a _weapon_!” Tony interrupted, jaw clenched. “Technically, it’s a high-tech prosthesis—”

“Which was flown into an active war zone, and used to blow up mujahideen weapons caches. Let’s not forget the Soviet tank you left behind as a diversionary tactic. If we want to get _technical_ , Mr. Stark, your actions could have very easily set off an international incident, which in turn—”

“Oh my god, come on, _Phil_ , the Soviets are—”

“Tony!” Pepper’s voice cut through everything, and to Bucky’s surprise Tony actually appeared repentant as he took in her flushed cheeks and the look of horror occupying her pretty face. “You flew into a _war zone_?”

“Just a little one.”

Pepper’s eyes welled up with tears. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”

“No, I’m going to keep a lot of other people from getting killed. This isn’t me thrill-seeking, Pep, this is the… the only _logical_ response—”

“Logical?”

“Yes, logical, absolutely! Stane was behind my kidnapping, _he’s_ the reason why these insurgents are armed to the teeth with my weapons, and I’m going to find them all and destroy them. I’m going to protect the people I put in harm’s way by having my head shoved so far up my own ass that I didn’t even notice—”

“Enough!” Coulson massaged the bridge of his nose. “You two can hash this out however you want later. Right now, I need your full attention. Stark, for better or worse, we’re on the same side.”

Tony sighed dramatically, throwing in an eye roll for good measure before flopping down in a chair. As if just remembering Bucky, he looked over his shoulder and tilted his head toward the other unoccupied seat by way of invitation. Feeling incredibly self-conscious, Bucky did just that, wishing he was in uniform, or just about anything other than Tony’s too small tank top and a pair of tuxedo pants.

Pepper looked from one of them to the other, and something in her eyes shifted, hardened. Bucky could only assume she’d put two and two together, realized what he and Tony had been up to while she and Coulson waited. It was uncertain as to whether the disapproval was for him specifically, or if he was once again dealing with the aftermath of Clint’s honeytrap.

“Just so we’re all on the same page here, Stane is guilty of treason, among other things. I’ve been doing some digging. He has connections, specifically someone high up within the U.S. Government. We want him alive for questioning, and we want whatever it is he’s been storing in your SI databases. Our window of opportunity is closing; we need to act now before he covers his tracks.”

“You’re going to make a deal with him.” Tony all but spat the words at Coulson.

“Actually, we’re planning on locking him in the deepest, darkest hole we can find,” Phil countered with a smile. “I’m looking forward to interrogating him. Either way, we want his files.”

The anger slowly slid from Tony’s face, replaced by shock, and then dismay. “You know, I was about to say your little expedition would be a waste of time, but the bastard is actually arrogant enough to keep everything right there, if only to rub it in my face. If I’d paid more attention...”

“Count yourself lucky,” Coulson suggested dryly. “We already know the only reason his attempt on your life didn’t work out as he’d planned was because the insurgents got greedy once they realized who it was they had in their possession.”

Bucky’s eyes met Pepper’s own, the two of them sharing a concerned glance before they each refocused on Tony. He was chewing on his thumbnail, foot tapping against the floor with impatience. “You want to send Pepper into SI.”

It wasn’t a question, but Coulson answered anyway. “Yes. We want any recent shipping manifests, along with any information she can find on something called Sector 16.”

“What’s Sector 16?” Bucky asked, earning himself a pointed stare from Coulson. Tony ignored him altogether, blurting, “I can do it.”

“You’re not leaving this house until we’ve got Stane in custody. There’s still the little matter of the hit he put out on you. At the moment, Stane is unaware you’re onto him, but once reports come in from Afghanistan it won’t be long before he figures it out. We send in Ms. Potts.”

“Wait, how am I supposed to find this evidence, exactly?” Pepper asked. “And how do I get it out once I find it?”

“Ob— _Stane_ has access to SI’s UNIX systems. We keep them locked down, they’re only accessible within the building. You’ll be able to get access through the terminal in my office.” Tony scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Look under Executive Files. I’ll walk you through the hack before you go, and, uh, then you can use ARPANet to get the data out.”

“Of _course_ you have access to ARPANet,” Coulson grumbled, to which Tony just shrugged and smiled. “Right. Prep Ms. Potts. My agents and I will serve as escorts, although we can’t accompany you inside of the SI offices without tipping our hand. Hawkeye will keep an eye on the mansion. Barnes, try to keep Stark out of trouble?"

"Hey!"

"We need you to stay grounded until Stane is in custody. Don't make me take _you_ into custody for your own protection."

Coulson's expression was dark enough that Tony didn't protest, simply pulled a face and folded his arms across his chest. Bucky met Coulson's steely gaze head on, nodding his agreement.

"Let's get to work then."

Which mostly meant Tony and Pepper running over the commands she'd need to use to access the information, how to determine if Stane had actually gone to the trouble of setting up a ghost drive, and on and on. Pepper was obviously nervous, but she had no trouble following Tony; she had more practice than anyone, after all.

Bucky took the time to change, feeling more at ease once he was covered up, opting for the clothes he'd worn when he'd first arrived, Jarvis having been kind enough to wash them. On went the holster, then the knives were tucked away safe and sound and within easy reach. He hoped he wouldn't need them, but wasn't particularly optimistic.

It was obvious Tony was worried about sending Pepper into SI, even though she was the least likely to draw attention to herself. Bucky was also willing to bet Stane had no idea how involved in the business Pepper had become; likely he thought of her as not much more than a pretty face and a nice pair of legs.

And pretty she was. Bucky found himself watching from a distance, just as he had done before, a strange sort of guilt worming through his guts. She and Tony gravitated toward each other when in the same room. It was obvious Pepper cared for her boss, and that this feeling extended far beyond the realm of the professional. They were friends—good friends—and Bucky had no trouble whatsoever imagining a scenario in which Tony’s current predicament brought the two of them closer still.

Pepper would be good for Tony. There was no point in denying it, and so Bucky didn’t bother, just let the realization take hold despite how it left him aching. In some ways it was a very good thing. If this ended with him dead, or locked away never to be seen again, there was comfort in knowing Tony would have Pepper.

She would be good for him in all the ways Bucky would not be. Couldn’t be. And that was unsettling. By crossing over the threshold of Tony’s life, had he somehow altered the course of things to such an extent that he’d taken what was rightfully Pepper’s? A place at Tony’s side, in his bed, in his heart.

The feeling that he’d cheated her somehow lingered even after the door closed behind her and Coulson. Flared up dangerously as he took in the concern, the strange longing in Tony’s eyes as he watched them go.

“If she’s hurt…”

But Tony never finished his sentence, only exhaled shakily, and headed for the living room, flopping down onto the couch as if his reserves of strength had finally been depleted. Bucky wanted to push the exhaustion aside, rub away the dark circles under Tony’s eyes, find a way to ease the tension from his body, make him smile. Instead, he sat beside him, feeling greedy and guilty when Tony took his hand, twined their fingers together.

“She’ll be okay,” Bucky said, although there was no way to be sure of this, and they both knew it.

“She better. I don’t exactly have friends to spare.” Tony grimaced at his own joke, nose crinkling with distaste. “I’m exhausted, but there’s no way I can sleep until I know she’s okay.”

In the distance, a telephone rang, while Bucky watched as Tony turned on the TV, the volume low enough to simply serve as background noise. “Understandable.”

A moment or two later, Jarvis appeared, his expression mirroring Tony’s own. “Sergeant Barnes, there is a call for you on sir’s secure line.”

“Better go see what S.H.I.E.L.D. wants now,” Tony grumbled, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

With a sigh, he got to his feet and headed for the study, watching as Jarvis made his way toward the kitchen. He felt bad asking the man for anything, but just the thought of food had his stomach grumbling.

Thinking of sandwiches and coffee, Bucky brought the receiver to his ear, and issued an absent, “Hello?”

"Sergeant Barnes?”

“Yes.”

“Sergeant James Barnes?”

A tremor ran through his body, his tongue suddenly feeling heavy in his mouth. He couldn’t place the voice on the other line. A man for certain, the voice deep and familiar, but it wasn’t Clint, Coulson, or even Fury. Rumlow? No, not Brock, but someone he knew. Someone he’d met since leaving Russia, someone...

“James Buchanan Barnes?”

There was no reason for his heart to begin racing, but it did, bringing with it an odd, almost distant ringing in his ears. There was something peculiar in the way this man enunciated his name, the emphasis and the unnecessarily weighty pauses he used between the words.

“Yes,” he answered again, the word coming out more like a soft exhalation.

He was smiling, although he had no reason to be doing so, and more importantly no desire to do so. A confusing sort of euphoria was rushing through his system, and had he been near a mirror, he would have been surprised to see his pupils dilate, the black threatening to swallow the blue. A cocktail of adrenaline and dopamine and various other neurotransmitters was causing havoc in his brain, but Bucky was in no position to recognize what was happening to him. He was frozen to the spot, his entire world reduced to the voice on the other end of the line.

“Зимний Солдат[13]?”

“Да.[14]”

“ _Listen_."

It was as if the final word was a key unlocking something deep within. Something, or somewhere, or _someone_. Bucky’s sense of self _slid_ from him, taking his many conflicted feelings and panic along for the ride. His very last conscious thought was that the sensation reminded him of watching beads of water sliding over Tony’s skin, as they held each other beneath the steady stream of warm water in the shower.

The ringing in his ears grew louder, even as everything around him became almost painfully bright, white rushing in around the edges of his vision, blotting out reality. Cold, and calm, and empty, and he recognized the crisp, pervasive scent in his nostrils as snow.

A world away, a voice issued orders through a telephone, and a man was on the other end to receive them. He stood ramrod straight in Tony Stark’s office, his breathing slow and even, his eyes devoid of emotion, an automaton waiting for instruction.

While his body remained, James Buchanan Barnes was simply gone.

* * *

  1. Winter Soldier ↑
  2. Yes. ↑




	16. Chapter 16

The room came into focus around him, too bright, reeking of antiseptic. Getting his eyes to focus took effort, but eventually the large, unfamiliar shapes resolved into monitoring equipment, which explained the steady beeping echoing in the room around him.

“What is your name?”

Bucky opened his mouth, grimacing as his lips peeled apart uncomfortably. His tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth, his throat dry. “James Buchanan Barnes,” he croaked after swallowing a few times.

“What are the days of the week?”

“What? Why…”

Attempting to move only resulted in frustration. Something was holding his head and shoulders steady, preventing him from looking around for the source of the questions. Likewise, his arms, legs, and torso were strapped down to the chair he was seated upon. Moving wasn’t an option, save for his heart, which increased its pace—and thereby increased the intensity of beeping—as he reacted to this new dilemma.

“What are the days of the week?”

“Uh, Monday, Tuesday…” he began, listing them all as he attempted to fight off the panic.

Beyond the lights aimed at his face, shapes were moving. They kept their distance as the disembodied voice asked him again to run through the days of the week, only this time in Russian. He did as he was instructed, for that and the countless other questions he was asked, time and reality slipping away.

It was as if his thoughts and feelings were wrapped in cotton. But that was surprisingly alright. Physically, he felt good. Flushed with warmth, skin tingling, he could feel the smile tugging at his lips, the sensation unfamiliar. It had been a long time since he’d smiled.

“What is your name?”

“James Buchanan Barnes.”

The shock caught him by surprise, coursing through his body with enough intensity to almost make him bite his tongue in half. The scream torn from his body sounded unnatural, more like a beast than a man. As quickly as it began, it ended, leaving him struggling to breathe.

While black crept in around the edges of his vision, voices around him conversed.

“The mouth guard wasn’t in place.”

“Does it matter? He heals fast.”

He didn’t have much time to contemplate the words before someone was looming over him, face hidden behind a surgical mask. “Open wide, Soldier.”

Unthinkingly, Bucky opened his mouth, and a heavy rubber bite guard was shoved inside, leaving him fighting his gag reflex. He bit down into it, nostrils flaring as he tried to plead with his eyes, but the figure was already turning aside, saying, “Once again,” and then the pain was back.

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“Do you understand your orders?”

“Yes.”

“Then carry on.”

The Winter Soldier placed the receiver on the hook, staring down at his hand as if it belonged to someone else. For the space of several breathes, he simply gazed into his own upturned palms while taking in deep lungfuls of air, exhaling evenly, until his body began to feel like his own, rather than something he was borrowing.

There was a particular satisfaction that came from receiving orders. He had been given purpose at last, a use for his training, his skills. Hands became fists, arms dropping to his sides as he spun on his heels, marched from the study.

The target—Anthony Edward Stark—turned, smiling at him for some reason as he approached the living room. He was sprawled across a couch, eyes at half mast as if he’d been falling asleep before the interruption. The Soldier was confident dispatching him would take little effort whatsoever. According to his briefing, Stark had no particular set of fighting skills, nor any known proficiency with weapons. It was only the thirty-six year old's exceptional mind that made him a threat worthy of the Winter Soldier.

“What’d S.H.I.E.L.D. want?” Stark asked, the smile slowly fading. "Going by the look on your face it can't be anything good."

Stark watched him expectantly as he stalked over to the couch. Before retrieving the device housed in the target’s chest, he would need to determine whether or not anti-tampering mechanisms has been put in place. Questioning would need to precede removal.

"Bucky?" The confusion was slowly being replaced by fear in the target's big brown eyes. "Can I get a hint, or..."

Stark moved, attempting to rise to his feet, but a well placed hand in the center of his chest and the slightest application of pressure had him back on the couch, irritation edging in around the fear visible in his eyes.

"Okay, seriously, what the—"

The Winter Soldier grabbed him by the throat, fingers cutting off the flow of words. Immediately, hands were shoving at him, though once this was proved a worthless endeavor, Stark shifted to attempting to pry his fingers loose.

"You will answer the questions asked of you truthfully." A wheezing sound escaped, Stark's face turning bright red. The Winter Soldier gave him a little shake. "Do you understand?"

Stark nodded as best as he could, earning himself oxygen at last. He stared up at the Soldier in disbelief, hands around his own neck as if he still felt fingers digging in, cutting off his supply of air, and was attempting to erase the sensation. As the Soldier watched, Stark gasped and coughed, blinking rapidly, tears at the corners of his eyes, face still flushed.

"Bucky," he managed to squeak out.

"There are ways to tell a lie from the truth. Lies only bring pain. Do you understand?"

The target was breathing heavily, blinking up at him rapidly. When Stark's hands moved away from his neck, the Winter Soldier could see where his fingers had been. There would be bruises.

"Bucky, _please_ don't do this." Stark's voice was surprisingly calm when compared to the look in his eyes. "I can't... I _refuse_ to believe it was _all_ an act. Just... just talk to me. We'll figure it out together."

Sickness washed through the Soldier, an unfamiliar, uncomfortable sensation of... wrongness. It was the way Stark said that name, coupled with the look in his eyes. Who the hell was this Bucky, and why did the target think it was _him_?

"Bucky?" Stark's expression shifted, eyes going wide and round as he licked his lips.

"If you lie, you will have to be hurt," he explained again for lack of anything better to say. "Answer truthfully."

"Why are you doing this?" There was less accusation and more resigned curiosity in Stark's voice. "What exactly do you get out of this, Bucky? Money? Power? What, no answer? You owe me that much at least."

"Control issues orders," he said in Russian. "Power is irrelevant. Money is irrelevant. The Winter Soldier follows orders. That is all."

Whether Stark's surprise was from actually having his question answered, or the answer itself was uncertain, but something had his mouth trembling.

"Oh no," he all but whispered, the color draining from his face. "No, no, no. That's... This is bad. _Shit_! Okay, Bucky, I need you to listen, baby. I think I know what happened."

The sick sensation washed through him again, leaving him grinding his teeth against the unwelcome feeling. He wrapped his hand around Stark's neck, not squeezing, not yet, but making it clear he would.

"The device housed in your chest. Has it been rigged in any way?"

One of Stark's hands fluttered up to rest against the front of his chest, as if that would protect him. Stark's breath caught, a tiny noise of distress escaping as he stared up into the Winter Soldier's face.

"You're still in there somewhere," he said, blinking rapidly in an attempt to hold back tears. "You have to be, that's how this works. I... I need to talk to James Buchanan Barnes."

The Winter Soldier tightened his grip, grinding his teeth as he cut off Stark's air supply.

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“What is your name?”

He was in the chair again. Maybe he had always been in the chair. Maybe the world was nothing but the chair, the questions, and pain.

They had gone over this particular question too many times to count. There was a right and a wrong answer, only the _wrong_ answer was the _right_ one. He'd learned that lesson the hard way.

"The Winter Soldier."

For a brief, beautiful moment, a sensation of pure ecstasy flooded through his body, leaving him tingling and alive with pleasure. He could feel the tears of relief as they slid down his cheeks.

"What is your purpose?"

The pleasure subsided abruptly, and once again he felt the ache in his muscles, and all the other pains layered beneath that, rooted somewhere deep within his bones. This was coupled with thirst, hunger, exhaustion, coldness. The worst of it all was centralized in his head, a throbbing sort of agony that threatened to blot out all reason. It felt as if they'd sawed him open without anesthesia, and put him back together _wrong_.

Trembling, he stammered out an answer, praying it was the right one. "To... follow orders."

Again, a flood of pure bliss, a momentary absence of pain.

"Let's try something new, Winter Soldier," his handler said.

The pain was still there, but distant and manageable as one of his handlers stepped into view, holding up a pistol. "You will only fire the weapon at the target of our choosing, and only when ordered to do so."

"Yes."

He watched with a detached curiosity as the gun was placed in his hand—the recently upgraded left one—his handler going so far as to curl his fingers around the grip for him.

"Do not drop the gun."

"No."

The handler paused and, once sure he had a firm hold on the weapon, undid the restraints on his left side, so as to allow for a better range of motion.

This was new. At least, he thought it was. Since they'd introduced the chair he'd begun losing time. There were large, shadowy islands of nothingness within his mind where memories should reside.

At first, he hadn't thought much of it. Captivity did things to the mind, and he made excuses for the disconnect, for losing track of meals, and the like. But once he'd woken to find his arm broken, and no recollection of how it had happened. After that, he’d begun doing an inventory whenever he opened his eyes. Sometimes there were bruises, or lacerations. All too often he’d find blood caked beneath his fingernails. Whenever that happened, he spent quite a bit of time wondering if it was his own, or someone else’s.

For a while it had driven him mad; the not knowing. Considering the things he'd been forced to do since falling into the KGB's lap, ignorance was as close to bliss as he was likely to get. He tried to tell himself it was better _not_ to know, and sometimes he even believed the lie.

Other times, it was more difficult. There had been an afternoon where he’d been escorted into the mess hall to eat with the guards and soldiers. His handlers hadn’t even armed themselves for protection, confident the fight was beaten out of him. They were right, of course.

It wouldn’t have stood out as a particularly interesting lunch, except for the way conversation ceased as soon as he entered the room, everyone watching him and not bothering to hide the fact. There were a few sneers, but overwhelmingly what he saw in their faces was fear mingled with disgust and awe.

“Your reputation precedes you,” his handler had said merrily. “They used to volunteer for a chance to fight you, but now?” He slopped a portion of something gray and gelatinous onto Bucky’s plate. “We had to implement a lottery.”

His companions had shared a laugh over this while Bucky surveyed the room. It had been _months_ since they’d run through one of the training exercises, and yet…

They sat at a table alone, the previous occupants rising and leaving once they saw the trio approaching. Unable to help himself, Bucky picked out a dozen or more guards with fresh injuries, and understood that he must be the cause.

 _Blood under his fingernails_.

“Eat.”

Bucky ate, mechanically, not tasting whatever it was he shoved into his mouth, too distracted by the tension in the room, and the desperate need to believe the lie.

_Ignorance is bliss._

Strapped into the chair, stranded somewhere between himself, and an unsettlingly comfortable unawareness of self, he waited for his target. The pain slowly began creeping in until he thought he might go mad from the sensation. His chest was heaving, the equipment beeping insistently in time with his frantic heartbeat. He could feel and smell the sweat pouring off of him, could taste metal in his mouth, but he held the pistol steady and did not pull the trigger.

"Winter Soldier. Listen. Your target will be entering the room in approximately two minutes. Do not shoot until you are given the order."

"Yes."

Teeth clenched together, he tried to slow his breathing, or at least quiet it some. His body was fighting him, making his vision swim as he waited.

Somewhere a door opened, and men in surgical attire led in a small figure. "When given the order, you will shoot your target in the head. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

“Your target is a child.” Another voice cut in, one he did not recognize. "How does this order make you feel?"

The beeping of the machines grew louder. The question made no sense, had to be a trick. Eyes darting around in their sockets, he tried to focus, to come up with an appropriate answer.

"The... There are no feelings. Only orders."

"Correct," his handler agreed.

"You must feel _something_ ," the other voice insisted.

His fingers trembled, but only the flesh ones. The metal hand remained steady, finger stretched out alongside the gun in anticipation of curling around the trigger. Why were they asking him about feelings, of all things? He was certain he had some, but they were buried under the chaos caused by whatever they were doing to him. How was he meant to pick through the sensations to track them down when…

A shock coursed through his body, not at the same intensity as typically used, but enough to make him grit his teeth, and scream. He didn’t drop the gun, even as he slumped in the chair as much as the restraints would allow, each exhalation sounding like a whimper.

“Are you angry?”

Bucky laughed, although it sounded more like a choked off sob than anything else. Anger took effort, needed care and feeding. He hadn’t felt anything of that sort of intensity in years. Licking dried, cracked lips, Bucky did his best to blink the sweat from his eyes.

“No," he answered before they shocked him again. Once he'd been angry, but once they'd broken him, so much of what made him a person had spilled out through the cracks.

“Not even sympathy for the child you’re about to murder?”

There was hurried, whispered conversation taking place somewhere behind him, and while he couldn't quite pick out the words over the ringing in his ears, and the noise of the machines, he could hear the edge of tension in his handler's voice.

“No.”

There wasn’t enough of him left to feel sympathy for anyone or anything, himself included.

“Do you _want_ to inflict pain?” the voice asked. “Will hurting someone else make you feel better about your own situation?”

"If you keep this up, we'll have to start again," his handler hissed.

"Look at the scans," the voice insisted. "There's still far too much higher brain function."

"That's the point. We need him capable of making tactical decisions in the field," his handler argued.

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best to block it all out. For all that they were arguing over him, at the moment he'd been forgotten. That seemed to be the point, actually, that James Buchanan Barnes would be forgotten by everyone, even himself.

They would continue arguing, his handlers would declare the experiment had been invalidated by this stranger's interference, and then they would start again the next day.

Except.

Bucky's eyes fluttered open. Except his left arm was unrestrained, and they'd given him a pistol. There was only one bullet—he could tell by the weight—but one was enough for what he had planned.

It was strange how some moments seemed to stretch out like taffy, happening in slow motion, only to snap back into real time with enough viciousness to give a person whiplash.

Moving his finger to the trigger seemed to take minutes, raising the pistol, changing the angle and slipping the muzzle past his chapped lips a lifetime. He was smiling through it all, even as his teeth chattered painfully around the metal, and his mouth flooded with an acrid taste.

The beeping of the machines was even, steady, his heart calming at the idea of ending the pain forever. And as he closed his eyes, he thought of Steve Rogers, and Coney Island, and wished he could feel the love he'd once been capable of, just once more, one last pure emotion before it was all over.

Time sped up again as he adjusted the angle of the muzzle to ensure his brains would be blown right through the top of his head, and his finger moved to pull the trigger. A cacophony of voices, panicked and desperate as year's worth of work prepared to slip through their fingers. They were too far away to stop him, though, and Bucky rejoiced, because he was going to be free, he was so close, and...

"спокойной ночи, милый принц[15]," his handler shouted, the word cutting through everything else.

The blackness that followed was not from the sweet release of death, but might as well have been. His body betrayed him, going limp, the gun falling harmlessly into his lap as the nothingness swept down to claim him, the phrase echoing through his mind again and again.

 _спокойной ночи, милый принц_.

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There was something wrong with Stark. There had to be, because this was not how targets reacted when placed in this sort of situation. The Soldier knew this from experience. Begging, yes. He’d had people beg many times. He’d been offered fortunes, sex, anything he wanted if only he’d make an exception, disregard his orders. The Soldier preferred it when a target fought back, wished Stark would shove at him, go for his eyes, _something_.

He understood his mind was damaged. Whenever it was he opened his eyes and found himself moving around in a body again, there was always a moment of confusion, as if he’d be off dreaming somewhere for so long that he could no longer tell fantasy from reality. Disorientation. A lack of foundation. There should be more memories in his mind, not less. It was confusing as to how he could even tell the difference between what was right and what was abnormal, considering the way his thoughts fought each other. It was like a pack of hungry wolves lived in his mind, and the only thing that kept them from tearing him to pieces was focusing on following orders.

Ascertain whether Stark had boobytrapped the device. Remove the device, killing Stark in the process. Bring the device to Stark Industries, where a man named Stane was waiting.

As far as orders went, they were simple, and yet…

His chest was heaving, each inhalation and exhalation sounding more ragged than the one preceding it. Stark still wasn’t fighting him, was just staring up into his eyes. Big, and brown, and wet with tears, so that his lashes clumped together. His hands were curled around the Soldier’s wrist, but he wasn’t trying to free himself, he was just stroking the skin, over and over. A caress. Intimate, and terrifying.

Stark’s face was bright red, his eyes wide, and the Soldier continued to hyperventilate, as if his body was trying to breathe _for_ Stark somehow, and none of it made any sense, so obviously there was _something wrong with him_. Not Stark, not the orders, but _him_.

Abruptly, he let go, then stared at his hand as if he didn’t recognize it, as if it had acted independently. Tony Stark coughed and wheezed and struggled to inhale, the tears sliding down his face and beneath the collar of his shirt. The Soldier watched their progress, had the oddest impulse to taste them.

“Bucky.” Stark’s voice was hoarse. “I know you’re in there somewhere.”

His body did not enjoy the direction the conversation was headed. “I don’t know you.”

“Yeah you do,” Stark countered, smiling. There was something about the smile that made him want to run away and hide. Resignation mixed with hope, and heartache, and… and something else, something he couldn’t name. “Я твой[16]. Remember? And you’re mine. So they don’t get to have you, Bucky, not now, not ever.”

A flash of memory and sensation slammed into him hard enough to make him growl, and grab a fistful of Stark’s shirtfront, use it to shake him. “Have you tampered with the device?”

“What was that, just then?” Stark asked, seemingly unphased. “Remember something? Yeah, I think you did. That’s because Bucky knows me. Cares about me. Maybe even loves me. I’m really hoping I get to live long enough to find out. You should see yourself by the way. You look _terrified_. I’m so sorry, baby, I had no idea they hurt you so bad. I’m gonna fix it, though, okay? Just… fight this—whatever this is, fight it, Bucky. Come back to me.”

“If you won’t answer, you’ll be hurt.”

Long fingers curled around the metal of his wrist, stroking again, and he swallowed past the lump in his throat as he stared, trying to make sense of what was happening. In his mind, he saw his hand and Stark’s, flesh fingers slotted between metal as if they belonged there, only that _had never happened_ , how could it have, and so…

“You told me not to trust you,” Stark continued, licking his lips and attempting to clear his throat. “But I do. I do, Bucky, I trust you. Even right now, like this, I trust that you’re in there, and you’re not going to let this happen.”

The memory that came wasn’t of this Bucky Stark kept talking about, it was of a room so bright it hurt to have his eyes open, of machines beeping loudly, straps cutting into his skin, while every muscle in his body tensed to such an extent that it felt like he might explode. Faces covered by surgical masks, someone placing a pistol in his hand, and _everything hurt_.

_"How does this order make you feel?"_

Jerking back into the moment, the Soldier’s breath caught in his chest, mouth falling open in surprise as fingers trailed over his face, tracing along the curve of his jaw. He jerked back as if he’d been struck. “There are no feelings. Only orders.”

“So why are you crying?”

He reached up to touch his face, then stared at his fingers in confusion when they came away wet. Eyes narrowing, he glared at Stark. Talking to him had been a mistake. He was the enemy, the target. And if he wouldn’t answer, then the Soldier must _make_ him answer.

Once the knife was in his hand, the Soldier felt calmer, centered somehow. It was like an extension of his own body, the weight and balance beautiful and familiar in a world full of confusion. He spun the blade again and again, moving it from one hand to another, calm settling over him.

Stark was watching him with equal parts awe and fear. His lower lip trembled, causing him to bite down into it in an attempt to hold it steady. “Left or right?”

“What?”

“Which eye should I carve out first?”

The noise Stark made should have been music to his ears, and yet another wave of sickness washed over him instead. The hands that had attempted to trick him with their soft touch moved to Stark’s own face, running over the features as if he might not get another chance.

“Okay,” he said, voice low and tremulous. “Please, just, listen. If… _when_ you wake up again, I’m not sure you’ll remember this, but either way, I have a feeling you’ll find out what happened to me. So, just, listen. _Bucky_. I _know_ this isn’t you. And I forgive you, and… and I’m sorry, because.” He had to stop, swallow again, his mouth quirked up to the side as he tried to control his emotions. “Because whatever it was that was happening between us? It was _good_ , Bucky.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Fine. James Buchanan Barnes, you and me, we’re one of those once in a lifetime sort of things. Believe it.”

_“What is your name?”_

The knife stilled in his hand, the momentary comfort it had imparted fading as the sickness washed over him. He pressed a hand to the side of his head as if to silence the words. “I don’t have a name,” he whined, unsure if he was answering Stark, or the voice in his head. “I only have orders.”

“Fuck that! You’ve said that to me before, and it’s bullshit.” Stark shifted, stood up, took a step forward so that they were standing almost chest to chest. “That’s what they want you to think. The KGB, and S.H.I.E.L.D. _Fuck them_ , Bucky. You’re more than an automaton, more than a soldier. I’ve seen the real you. That’s the guy I care about. And if you do this… if you cut me up, and then rip the reactor out of my chest? It’s going to kill you.”

" _You must feel something_ ," the voice in his head hissed, and he heard the beeping again, and when he squeezed his eyes shut it was bright, not dark. Blindingly white, and there was a pistol in his hand, not a knife.

Lips brushed against his own, dragging him out of the confusion of his mind. When he opened his eyes again, Tony Stark was still watching him, hope and fear, and it was _too much_.

Moving quickly, he grabbed a fistful of Tony’s hair and yanked, wrenching his head back, exposing the long column of his throat. He could see the man’s pulse, and unsure of what he was doing, or why he was doing it, dragged his teeth over the spot, bit down hard, then swept his tongue over the indentations left behind by his teeth. The body pressed against his shifted, Tony making a wild, vulnerable sound.

There was no reason for him to feel familiar, or for the scent of him to be as comforting as the knife. This was his _target_. The rest was just words, lies, and yet… And yet he wanted to curl himself around Stark, bury his face against the curve of his shoulder, and let someone else do the thinking for a while. Follow a new set of orders. Tony’s orders.

“Bucky?”

The Soldier gnashed his teeth and cried out against the skin beneath his lips, even as he brought up the knife, pressing the tip beneath Tony’s chin.

“I wish… I was this Bucky,” he stammered, eyes wide as he watched the knife break the skin. Not deep, just enough to draw blood. Tony whimpered, held onto him, but still didn’t fight.

“You _are_. You are, I promise you are.”

It would be quick and easy. He could slit Tony Stark’s throat, and then the confusion would be over. He could retrieve the device, and report to Control.

“You are James Buchanan Barnes,” Tony insisted. “But everyone calls you Bucky. You grew up in Brooklyn with Steve Rogers. He’s your best friend, and I really want to meet him. You were staying with him in DC before… before you came here, and we met.”

His hand was shaking. It had no business doing so, but it was, as if his body knew better than his mind. One thrust. Just…

“I feel like we’ve known each other for years.” Tony was shaking, trying to keep his head angled away from the blade, but there were several shallow nicks beneath his jaw, the blood welling up bright and angry red, and filling the Soldier with panic. “But we haven’t. We’ve hardly had any time at all, really, which isn’t _fair_.”

“ _You must feel something..._ ”

The Soldier was crying harder now, and couldn’t understand why. His fist was tight around the hilt of the knife, and he knew it was only a matter of time. He would slide it home, plunge the blade into Tony’s throat, and there would be a grim satisfaction in having completed his mission. And yet, even as he willed himself to move, his heart pounded angrily in his chest, and he was making soft, plaintive noises on each exhalation.

“Please, please, Bucky, please,” Tony whispered, “come on, baby, I know you can hear me. I can see how hard you’re fighting this.”

Which was _true_. There was no denying it. Something inside of him raged at the idea of Tony Stark being brought to harm, even as the rest of him struggled to bring about an end to the confusion and torment by cutting Stark’s throat open.

“Don’t give up, come on, just tell me how to help you.”

The look on Tony’s face was too much to endure, and so he squeezed his eyes shut again, ignoring the hiss of pain as Stark was nicked once again by the blade. A room, blinding white, strapped to the chair, and a pistol in his hand.

“Bucky!”

The taste of metal in his mouth, lips wrapped around the muzzle of the gun, and he was going to be free, he was finally going to end the pain, make it stop once and for all, but… but…

His eyes flew open as Tony’s hands wrapped around his wrist, attempting to keep the knife at bay, even as he slowly pressed forward. “Bucky, it’s okay,” Tony whispered, blinking rapidly. “I know you tried. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

...but they’d said something, a phrase, and everything had gone dark.

Tightening his grip, the Soldier tugged back on Tony’s hair, pulling him further away from the blade, opened his mouth, and spoke without thinking. It was a hoarse whisper, but still audible. “спокойной ночи, милый принц.”

“спокойной ночи, милый принц[17]? Wait, is that from _Hamlet_? What do you mean?”

But it was too late for him to answer. As soon as the word left Tony’s lips, the darkness came for him again, wrapping him up safe, taking away the confusion and the conflict. The knife fell from his hand, and he followed after it, reduced to dead weight crashing to the ground at Tony Stark’s feet.

* * *

  1. “Goodnight, sweet prince.” So, originally I had “Sputnik” in here, since that was used in the comics, but my gorgeous co-horts on imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com were on the same page as me in thinking this is the dumbest possible word/phrase to use, since it could logically come up in conversation. I went with this quote from _Hamlet_. Stalin had actually banned _Hamlet_ , so it was a big deal when he died, and it could make a comeback. I hope the Russian is correct, but please do tell me if I goofed it! ↑
  2. I’m yours. ↑
  3. Goodnight, sweet prince. ↑




	17. Chapter 17

Bucky woke as if someone had _pushed_ him out of sleep, a violent, confusing return to wakefulness that made his entire body jerk as his eyes snapped open. Something was wrong, and it only took a moment for his brain to catch up, report back the absence along his left side. With a whimper of confusion, he turned, found the shoulder socket exposed, his arm nowhere to be seen.

Immediately, panic swept into the void, bringing confusion along with it. He didn't recognize his surroundings. His weapons were gone, his _arm_ was gone, and his head felt as if someone had wrapped it in cotton. Thoughts were moving slowly, colliding into each other, the confusion causing him to come to some rather horrible conclusions.

Was he back in Russia? Maybe he had never left. Maybe Tony—and every last unbelievable thing that had happened to him since returning—had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination. Except, he had a hard time believing he could have dreamed up someone like Tony, which left another awful alternative; had this simply been yet another experiment?

The sob tore its way through his chest, echoed around the room as he clamped a hand over his mouth and struggled against it. The tears refused to be held at bay, spilled down over his cheeks as he slowly climbed to his feet. He lurched momentarily, balance completely off kilter. He'd already become accustomed to compensating for the weight of the bionic arm.

If it hadn't been a fantasy, or yet another mindfuck, then something bad had happened. _Tony_. What if they'd gotten to him? Killed him? Bucky pushed aside everything else, focused on the awful sensations rollicking through him. He needed to find a way out, find Tony, make sure he was safe.

"Bucky?"

He spun on his heels, almost falling in the process as a wave of dizziness and relief washed over him. Sniffling, wiping at his eyes, he looked around.

"Tony?" How very small and pathetic he sounded, bleating out the name as if praying for salvation. "Are you okay? Where are we?"

"I'm fine," and Tony sounded relieved as well. "How are you? Um, everything good in there?"

"They took my arm and weapons," he reported, circling the room, looking for possible points of failure. "This isn't a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility. Doesn't even look like it was made to hold prisoners. I can probably find a way out."

At this, the door opened, and Bucky found himself face to face with Tony's creation. "Yeah, that won't be necessary," he said, the suit's voice modulator lending the words an ominous quality.

The moment stretched out before him, leaving Bucky's stomach feeling as if it had surged up into his throat only to plummet down into his bowels. Sickness washed over him, even as his mind struggled to make sense of what was happening.

"Tony?"

Bucky wondered what his expression must be. Shattered enough that the faceplate shot open on the armor, allowing him to see the fear and hope and trepidation in Tony's eyes.

"Hi."

Licking his lips, he hugged himself with the arm he had left. "What's happening?” As he watched, Tony’s expression darkened, his eyes lowering, avoiding meeting Bucky’s own. “Was there some kind of… of exchange?"

"No! _No_ , nothing like that, Buck." Tony looked slightly horrified, as if not expecting Bucky to have come to that conclusion. "We're still in the mansion. This is just an empty storage room."

That was a relief, but didn't help clear anything up, either. "Please tell me what's happening," he begged, taking a step closer.

Tony looked like he wanted to take a step back, which was worrisome. He had his hands up, the palms glowing, as if worried he might have to defend himself.

"First I need to say something. Okay?" Bucky nodded his agreement, watched as Tony worried at his lower lip before saying, "спокойной ночи, милый принц."

"What?"

Tony's eyes had gone a bit wide, his face all bright with curiosity before darkening again. "Alright. Good to know."

Bucky scrubbed his hand through his hair, feeling about two seconds away from a full-on panic attack. It was a struggle to calm himself, but he managed. Something bad had happened, but whatever it was, at least Tony was safe. That was all that mattered, really. And so he reverted to standard operating procedures, lowering himself to his knees, placing his remaining hand behind his head, and waited. There was something comforting in the familiarity.

“What are you doing?” Tony was chewing on his lower lip again, eyeing him nervously.

“Surrendering.”

That same confusing nervousness washed across Tony’s features again. “Surrendering?”

Bucky maintained his position, body rigid. He could stay like this for hours, had had plenty of practice doing so back when he was a guest of the KGB. You learned to ignore the pain and discomfort. Pins and needles were better than whatever punishment they'd come up with for moving.

Perhaps Tony realized Bucky had no intention of elaborating, because his own posture relaxed, the glowing palms lowering. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"I was in your office," Bucky answered after a moment's consideration. "There was a phone call for me."

"Right! Okay. Uh, do you know who called?"

The question made him uncomfortable for reasons he couldn't explain. Trying to think about the call left him queasy, as if something inside of himself didn't want him trespassing on the memory. "No."

"Man, woman?"

"Man."

Tony nodded. "Okay. Shit. I'm not sure there's any _good_ way to explain this, so I'm just going to come right out and say it." Tony took a deep breath, then plowed ahead, words running together in his haste to get what needed to be said out of his mouth. "The phone call was used to trigger you, because apparently you're the one Stane's contacts sent to kill me."

The room spun for a moment, although he remained still. "What?"

Tony shifted, obviously uncomfortable. "You're a sleeper agent, Bucky. When you came back into the room, it was like we'd never met before. You called yourself the Winter Soldier, and attacked me, and—"

"Attacked?" Bucky's heart slammed angrily against his ribcage as he tried to make sense of what Tony was saying.

"I'm fine," Tony swore. "Seriously, put your hand down, Buck, you're not under arrest or anything, I just needed to be sure you were _you_ again."

He kept his hand behind his head, fingers gripping his hair almost painfully. "What did I do?" He sounded wrecked, swallowed past the lump in his throat, tried again. "Tony. Did... Did I hurt you?"

One look in Tony's eyes was answer enough. The self-loathing swept over him with enough force that he doubled over, forehead pressing into the cool concrete floor as he moaned. "What did I do?" he asked again. Fear and shame took hold, growing stronger the longer his question remained unanswered. And so he shouted it, the words echoing oddly in the room. "Tony, what did I do?"

"Choked me," Tony blurted, and it sounded as if it hurt him to say the words. Now that he was paying attention, that explained the hoarseness of Tony's voice. "And, uh, nicked me a bit."

Unable to help himself, he surged upwards, hand still in place behind his head, remaining on his knees despite wanting to run to Tony, examine him. "Show me."

Tony looked like he might argue, but then he sighed resignedly, removed the helmet and tilted his head up. There were livid finger shaped bruises around his throat, and several nasty looking cuts beneath his jaw held closed by butterfly bandages.

Bucky hissed his displeasure, but didn't look away. He needed to face this reality. The one person he'd sworn to protect, and...

"Bucky, whatever you're thinking—"

"I'm thinking you should put a bullet in my head," he snapped.

"Whoa! Hold on a minute, no one is shooting—"

"I almost killed you!"

"Right, but you didn't."

Breathing as if he'd just run several miles, Bucky watched Tony as he let the reality of what he'd been told sink in. A sob tried to escape, but he bit down on it, ignored the tears running down his face.

_He_ was the enemy. Hadn't some part of him known all along? At least his rescue made more sense now. He was a dangle without even knowing it. They'd purposefully leaked information, left a trail for U.S. Intelligence, moved him to a less remote, and far less secure facility for a reason. They _wanted_ their ticking time bomb back in the United States where it could do the most damage.

Cold dread had hold of him, as he struggled to wade through his memories. Had he lost time before? Had they made him hurt other people? Would he ever have a way of knowing if they had?

"I'm compromised," he whispered, staring at the wall just over Tony's shoulder. "I can't be trusted. I'm..." There wasn't a word for it that fit nicely against his tongue.

"Bucky," and Tony was speaking calmly, as if he was dealing with a spooked animal. "Look at me. Please."

A couple of steadying breaths and he did just that. Tony looked terrified, which was better than acting like everything was normal at least. Once he made eye contact, something softened in his expression, warmth and concern fighting the fear.

"Promise me you won't hurt yourself."

That was difficult. Bucky reminded himself that despite Tony's convictions, once S.H.I.E.L.D. understood what he was, they'd take care of it for him.

"I promise."

"I'm serious. If you... If you kill yourself or something, I'm going to be fucked up over it for the rest of my life. I can't handle what comes next if I have to worry about you eating your gun as soon as I give it back to you."

"You can't give me a weapon!"

“Not yet.” Tony held both hands up placatingly. "Please, Bucky. I _can't_ lose you, not now." Tony watched him for a beat. "I know this—us—isn't some game you're playing for S.H.I.E.L.D. You care about me. Tonight made that painfully clear."

The laugh sounded more like a sob when it left Bucky's lips. "By almost killing you." He wasn't sure why he had to keep reminding Tony.

"Yes. But _you didn't_. Bucky. Seriously, I can almost hear you ignoring me, but I need you to actually listen. You managed to break KGB brainwashing! Because... Because of how you feel about me."

Bucky didn't bother to hide his confusion. He'd assumed Tony had incapacitated him using the armor, then brought him down here. But there he was, pink in the cheeks as if there was something romantic about any of this.

"We're good together, Buck. And you're not the only one with feelings, here. So, as crazy as it sounds, I need you to trust me when I say I can fix this."

Bucky stared back without answering, and Tony sighed.

"Nice vote of confidence."

"What did you mean? About breaking it."

Tony sighed again. "Right, okay, let me start at the beginning. Do me a favor, and lower your arm, though."

Bucky had forgotten he was still on his knees with a hand behind his head. It took concentration to lower it again, fingers twitching against his thigh as he pressed his palm against the soft fabric of his pants.

He watched Tony's face as he explained what had happened, could almost see it in his mind. Could almost feel the knife in his hand, see himself following through, sinking it into Tony's throat. It left him wanting to throw up. What would he have done if he'd woken up to find himself covered in Tony's blood? Or maybe they would have never let him wake at all, Tony and his feelings for the man lost forever.

"Bucky?" Tony had come close enough to touch at some point. The armored hand felt strange when it touched the top of his head, but was still comforting, even if he didn't deserve comfort. "I'm not stupid. I won't pretend to know how violated you're feeling at the moment. But I need you to focus on the positive here; you managed to give me a... a kill switch of sorts. And more importantly, I was a bit paranoid when I first came back from Afghanistan. The secure line in my office isn't so secure."

Unable to help himself, Bucky looked up into Tony's eyes. "What?"

"I might have it, um, bugged?" Tony grinned, shrugged, and despite everything, Bucky couldn't help but snort with laughter. "Yeah, well, it means I have a recording of the call. I know how they triggered you."

A chill ran through him, sweat slipping down between his shoulder blades. "Have you listened to it?"

Tony nodded. "While you were sleeping."

Bucky felt that sinking, awful feeling again. “How long was I out?”

“Only about fifteen minutes.” Tony smiled wanly, possibly over Bucky’s incredulity. “I work fast. Had an armed Jarvis watch you while I got in the suit, then carried you down here, listened, and yeah. Tonight has certainly been educational.”

Bucky swallowed around the lump in his throat. "You want to try it, don't you... the trigger?"

The armor clad fingers were cool against his cheek, a strange contrast to the warmth in Tony's eyes. "I know, it's not ideal, but I can't think of any other way to attempt deprogramming you. You don't have to say yes, but either way, I'm going to have to talk to Fury. Sooner than later, too. I know who called to trigger you. It was Alexander Pierce, which explains why he was so eager to side with me against Fury. No wonder he wanted you kept on as my bodyguard. He _has_ to be the person Coulson's been looking for." Tony shook his head, as if it was all only just sinking in. “Fuck. The _Secretary of Defence_ is working for the Soviets, Bucky. I’m running out of people to trust.”

Tony watched him expectantly. The safest course of action was to say no, insist Tony turn him over to S.H.I.E.L.D., but if he had a choice he'd take a bullet over being locked up again. There was no chance S.H.I.E.L.D. wouldn't want to learn as much as possible about what the KGB had done to him. Whatever story they came up with to appease Tony, in reality he'd be a lab rat again.

And at the same time, the unfairness of it all rankled. He wanted to believe that Tony could fix him, that they could be together somehow, as implausible as that was.

"We’re in this together, remember? Til the end of the line? Please," Tony whispered, "don't stop fighting now."

It was the kiss that did it. Tony used the strength the armor afforded him to pull Bucky up to his feet, brought their mouths together, the kiss balanced tenuously between gentleness and desperation. Tony's lips trembled against his own, his eyes bright with unshed tears.

"If... If you _can't_ ," Bucky croaked, "promise me you'll kill me."

"What?"

Tony's shocked expression would have been amusing under different circumstances. "I won't let them use me to hurt anyone else. And I'd rather be dead then become S.H.I.E.L.D.'s next project."

Bucky expected Tony to argue, but he kept his mouth shut, lips pressed together firmly. "It might take some time. Promise you'll give me an _actual_ chance to fix it?"

He nodded his agreement, then added, "promise," when Tony continued staring at him expectantly.

"Okay. Then we have work to do. I don't know if the person issuing the commands has any bearing, or if it's just the words, and the order of them. The cadence, maybe. I can play the actual tape if it doesn't work when I try."

Bucky nodded again, took a deep breath. "Put the helmet back on. Maybe stay on the other side of the room. If they ordered me to kill you, retriggering might not negate a previously issued command."

"Right." Tony didn't step away, though, he pressed closer, capturing Bucky's mouth again. There was an unspoken promise mixed somewhere in the press of lips, and the hot slide of Tony's tongue against his own.

"Crazy as it sounds, I'm pretty sure I'm falling in love with you," Tony blurted when the kissing stopped.

Bucky smiled despite everything, drinking in Tony's wild eyes, and flushed cheeks, the misery momentarily pushed aside. "I already know I love you," he answered. "Don't think I had much of a choice in the matter."

Tony grimaced at his choice of words, then pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Bucky's cheek. "Love's worth fighting for," he said, "so let's fight."

Bucky squared his shoulders, nodded his agreement, then watched as Tony retrieved the helmet and slotted it in place. Once he was fully protected, he moved to the far side of the room and raised his hands, the palms glowing ominously.

"Just answer yes to my questions, okay?"

"Yes."

"Sergeant Barnes?"

"Yes."

"Sergeant James Barnes?”

The slow, purposeful way in which Tony was saying his name was familiar, yet unfamiliar. There was a sort of _itch_ at the back of his mind, a sense of anticipation. It reminded him of times during the war when he'd get that eerie little tingle up his spine, usually before everything went to shit.

“James Buchanan Barnes?”

Something about the modulated voice of the suit left him wanting to sink back to his knees, and surrender. Or maybe that was simply a side effect of whatever was sweeping over him, because a change was taking place inside of his mind. He tried not to fight it, wasn't sure if he could if he wanted to, focusing on the glowing eyes of the helmet.

“Yes,” he answered on a sigh.

Everything was too bright, too sharp, the light in the room shifting and pulsing in time with the beating of his heart. It wasn't darkness creeping in, but the bright blinding white of a field of snow. He could smell it, crisp and clean.  A shiver ran through him, although he wasn't cold. If anything, he was too warm, too alert, too...

“Зимний Солдат[18]?”

“Да.[19]”

“Listen."

And then he wasn't anything at all, because James Buchanan Barnes had lost his grip, had been washed away, was stranded somewhere inside of his own mind.

The Winter Soldier stood at the ready. There was some strange, armored thing opposite him.

"What are your current orders?"

There was an unsettled feeling in his chest, the sort that always presented itself when a mission hadn't been completed as instructed. Perhaps this was the reason why his arm was absent. Would he have to earn it back?

"I await orders."

It wasn't precisely accurate. A face came to mind, drifted away again. His previous target? Yes. Orders were typically issued upon summoning, though, so he had no doubt clarity of purpose would soon be his.

"Who are you?"

The iron man's Russian was sloppy, but comprehensible. "The Winter Soldier."

"Who do you work for?" What sort of question was that? He had no answer, and so he remained silent. "Okay then, who issues your orders?"

"You do."

"Right, I'm guessing they didn't want anyone able to get anything worthwhile during an interrogation in the case of capture."

"Capture is unacceptable. The Winter Soldier fights to the death."

"Not anymore you don't. You're being retired."

That was strange. There was a sense of self-preservation in there somewhere, prompting him to hesitate for several seconds before sinking to his knees and placing his remaining hand behind his head.

"What are you doing?"

"The mission has ended."

Silence, then the armored man took a step forward, head cocked to the side. This thing must be his replacement. It looked a bit clunky, had clearly seen battle sometime recently if the bullet holes were any indication, but it also appeared formidable. He was mostly flesh. No wonder he was no longer of use.

"I'm not going to _kill_ you. I want to set you free."

If he had known how, the Winter Soldier would have laughed. The word made no sense, especially not when applied to him. Freedom was having his choice of weapon. Freedom was being allowed to make a clean, beautiful shot through the head of his target from over two thousand meters away, rather than being forced to use explosives. Freedom was the blade of a knife, and the infinite ways in which he could apply it to flesh.

"I don't understand."

"Right, of course not. Why do I get the feeling this is going to take a while?"

The Soldier watched as the helmet was removed, revealing a familiar face. "You."

Brown eyes widened, nervousness apparent on the handsome feature of Tony Stark's face. "You remember me?"

"You were my target."

"And now I'm in charge," he said, mouth twisting to the side as if the words displeased him. "Understood?"

"I obey."

"Okay. Good. Uh, alright. Let's start at the beginning. Listen. You have a name, and it's James Buchanan Barnes."

And so the Soldier listened.

* * *

  1. Winter Soldier ↑
  2. Yes. ↑




	18. Chapter 18

Bucky woke slowly to the sensation of someone stroking his hair. Blunt fingernails against his scalp, pleasantly tracing the contours of his head. It left him sighing, eyes still closed as he let his other senses report back on his surroundings.

He was somewhere safe, and warm, head tucked comfortably into Tony’s lap. With another contented sigh, he shifted, pressing his face against Tony’s stomach, breathing deeply. How Tony always managed to smell so good was beyond him.

“What time is it?” he asked, his tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth.

“Don’t worry about it.” The fingers moved from his hair down to trace the contours of his face, brushed over his lips, making him smile. “How are you feeling?”

There was a strange hesitancy in Tony’s question that seemed out of step with the moment. Bucky shifted, shrugging. He felt… good. _Really_ good, actually. More rested than he’d felt in months. Sore in places he’d never quite expected to feel sore, which in turn made his smile grow, because Tony was the reason for that particular sensation. Behind his eyes, he conjured the image of the two of them tangled together on the couch, Tony holding his hand, head thrown back as he reached his climax.

“Good.”

“Excellent.”

He could easily have fallen back asleep like that, except for the odd, nagging sensation, as if there was something he was supposed to be doing, or somewhere he was supposed to be. His heart gave a little lurch as new imagery flashed behind his eyes. Tony looking up at him, trust and heartbreak and hope in his eyes, while Bucky’s hand tightened around his throat.

_“Whatever this is, fight it, Bucky. Come back to me.”_

Bucky’s eyes snapped open, his body jerking in response to the memory. Tony raised his arms, had them held in the air. Bucky appreciated being given room as he shifted upright, a hand pressed to the side of his head as if that could somehow stop the flood of memories.

“I think it worked, Buck. You’re not going crazy—everything is going to be okay, I promise. Just try to keep calm.”

“Я не понимаю,[20]” he managed through his clenched jaw.

There were all of these alien thoughts and feelings rushing through him, as if somewhere in his mind a dam had been unstopped, and he was going to _drown_ in this, how could he not?

Moscow in the spring, a gun in his hand, a head snaps back, there is blood and it is good. His handler talks to him like he is a dog, but he does not mind. All that matters is that the mission is complete. Men in the snow, blood in the snow, no weapons aside from his fingers, and there is so much blood. Orders, so many orders, so many lives; more than he’d ever guessed, and there had _already been so many_ weighing upon his conscience.

Dragged down, and under, and there is another him that feels no shame over any of this, feels only grim satisfaction, is blank and untouchable, unstoppable, and…

Tony’s hand was warm against his back, rubbing circles there. “Bucky?

“There are two of me,” he wailed, not sure what else to say. It’s a lie, and he knows it, because there is only _him_. There has always only been him.

James Buchanan Barnes.

The Winter Soldier.

It was more than a code name or a call sign, it was an entire existence he hadn't known about. Except. Had he really _not_ known? His memories had been redacted for some time, as if someone had taken great liberties with a heavy black marker, leaving him with something while, not palatable perse, was at least _digestible_. Enough pain and blood for him to be thankful for the editing, and unwilling to probe those dark, empty places within his mind where memories should be.

He supposed it wasn’t precisely fair to hold himself to the standards applied to other people. A normal person would question a great deal upon waking to find blood caked under their fingernails, and slowly fading bruises where none had been before. Your average citizen wouldn’t recognize the particular odor that lingers when you have spent a great deal of time firing, and then cleaning a gun, and yet _he_ does, and has ignored its inexplicable presence after a period of dark unawareness.

But James Buchanan Barnes had been tenderized to such an extent that in many ways there was nothing toothsome left to him at all. The KGB had seen to that even before the final phase of the project had gotten underway. Still. He had a hard time believing anyone in a position of power would accept that as an excuse.

He wanted to throw up, or scream, but even as the panic clawed at him, it was like some of that coldness—the alien otherness of the missing half of himself—seeped into the marrow of his bones, and took root. Found a home. Settled in comfortably, the effect almost anesthetizing. In fact, it is something he can reach out for, a hand taking his in the darkness, and wrapping him up safe and sound in numb detachedness. Bucky accepted the offer, and used it to push aside the chaos threatening to overwhelm him.

When he turned and saw Tony, it was a little like seeing him for the first time, because now he is looking with two sets of eyes. If anything, it makes him love the man _more_. Even when there was none of the messy rest of him, and only the soldier, it had coveted Tony too much to harm him. Had dug somewhere inside, pulled a weaponized memory loose, and handed it over to Tony so that he could save them from themselves.

If possible, he would have kissed the other him for having done so, but he couldn’t, and so he settled for kissing Tony, instead. Clearly surprised him, the brown eyes wide and wary, although his mouth opened without hesitation, a moan slipping free as Bucky teased his tongue inside, shuddering at the taste of Tony. One of Tony’s hands curled around the nape of his neck, keeping him close, and in a matter of moments they were tangled together, breathing heavily, Tony holding on for dear life.

Bucky could still feel the aftermath of the last time they were on this couch together, and inside of him the Soldier shifts with jealous discomfort, wants a repeat performance. He’s never used their body for pleasure before, and wants to do so with Tony Stark. Wants to sink into him, to make up for the bruises around his throat, make him forget how very close they came to killing him.

They don’t have the luxury of time, though. The kiss was over far too soon, Tony pulling away, whispering, “Hey, are you okay? Talk to me, Buck.”

“I’m not, but I _am_.” He licked his lips and tucked himself into the comforting curve of Tony’s shoulder. There were teeth marks there, and now he could remember biting Tony’s throat, the odd need to mark him, even as his programming tried to make him carry out his terrible mission. “It hurts. I kinda want to curl up in a ball for a couple days. But… now I’m whole in a way I wasn’t.” He sucked in a shuddering breath before whispering his confession against Tony’s skin. “I’ve killed so many people.”

“You didn’t have a choice,” Tony said. Bucky wanted to believe him, but it was hard, considering he now had the Soldier’s satisfaction sitting heavily in his chest, right alongside the sorrow. “I wish we could run away together, deal with this in private, but… We can’t. I can’t, anyway. I need to take care of Stane, and I don’t think I can do that alone.”

The orders that had been given to the Soldier are there for him now. “They wanted me to bring him the arc reactor.”

It was surreal, hearing himself say things he had no knowledge of, until the words left his mouth, and he realized he _did_. He wondered if this strange schism was going to be with him until he died, or if everything would level itself out if given time. In the meantime, Tony was like a ballast, providing a much needed balance. He was the only thing they were in utter agreement over. How very strange it was, to feel the cold, calculating love of the Soldier mixed in with his own bank of emotions.

“Right, and call me crazy, but the first thing that popped to mind was Sector 16. Stane has something he’s been working on, and he wants the reactor to power it. That can’t be good.”

Bucky licked his lips. Trying to focus on the now, he realized that they had spoken for a while—an hour, at least—but Coulson and Pepper had yet to return. Knowing what he knew now, sending them into SI felt like they’d had their friends walk right into the belly of the beast. “We need Hawkeye.”

Tony stared at him, blinking. “Do… do you remember what we talked about?”

“Yes.” Bucky rolled his shoulders, sat up straighter. Tony was eyeing him skeptically. “I can do it.”

“You’re not worried about being triggered again?”

He should be. He knew he should be, but he also knew that part of his life was over. “No. Try it if you want. And the phrase, too, try that. It isn’t going to matter. There’s nothing keeping us apart any longer.”

Tony had no reason to look guilty, and yet he did. Bucky tried for a smile and failed as Tony cupped the side of his face, brushed his thumb against his cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t do this to me, Tony. The KGB did. You just… put me back together again the only way you knew how.”

It hadn’t taken much convincing, really. The Soldier didn’t enjoy being locked away inside of Bucky’s mind, understandably preferred having control of their body, even if that control was illusionary. When he was awake, there was a mission to complete, and although the mission was everything, and he was supposed to be nothing more than a weapon, the Soldier remembered every liberty that had been taken with him by those in a position of power.

He had been beaten like a dog.

He had been made to crawl.

They had sought to humiliate him, break him down, see how well he obeyed.

And in the end, he had been their good little puppet, but each and every face and name and detail was burned into his memory.

The Soldier had his own list of targets.

Once he understood what Tony was explaining—that the cold wasteland he found himself stored in when the mission was over wasn’t actually a physical location, but a construct within the mind of another man—he had been more than willing to cooperate. Especially once Tony began to explain his plan.

Tony didn’t realize the Soldier’s motivation exactly, but maybe he hadn’t wanted to. Time was short, and the stakes were high, and there wasn’t really time to worry about certain consequences.

“Tell me.”

This time Bucky did smile. “You notify Fury of Pierce’s involvement, then give me the original reactor. I bring it to Stane. Hawkeye provides cover, and you hang back in the armor. Once we determine the location and safety of Pepper and Coulson, you update Fury, and we capture them.”

Tony nodded, looking relieved. “I already rigged the reactor. It’ll only have about ten minutes of power before everything goes to shit.” Maybe he noticed the way Bucky was staring at him, because Tony smiled, shook his head. “Which you know because you were with me when I did it. Sorry, this is just… well. Weird.”

“Tell me about it,” Bucky agreed.

Tony hopped up off the couch, heading over to the armor. He should have never bothered removing it, despite how nice it had felt for the Soldier to be held safe in Tony’s arms as Tony talked him through the transition.

“Your plan is unnecessarily complicated.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony arched an eyebrow, playfulness and excitement right in there with the urgency. Despite the situation they were in, some part of him enjoyed the idea of playing the hero, swooping in to save the day. “You have a better idea?”

“Yes. The first chance I get, I kill Stane.”

The color drained from Tony’s face. “No. We’re not doing that.”

“He’s the reason—”

“We’re the good guys,” Tony snapped. “If we have to—if there’s no choice—that’s one thing, but we’re not just swooping in and murdering anyone.”

Bucky fought to keep the Soldier’s sneer off of his face. “I won’t let him hurt you, Tony.” He sighed, rolled his shoulders. “But we’ll do it your way.”

Tony nodded, the conflict clearly visible in his eyes, even as relief washed over his features. “Thank you.”

This one he would let Tony have, although he hoped Stane would give him an excuse to put a bullet in him, even if it was a non-lethal shot.

With a sigh, he shucked out of his jacket, pulled out one of his knives. Despite everything, he was still a bit uncomfortable with Tony having given them back to him while he was still fully in the Soldier’s mindset, nevermind that his trust had been rewarded with good behavior.

“What are you—”

“They’ll want to know what took so long. If we’re going with torture as the excuse, I should have blood on me.” Tony obviously hadn’t thought of that, and looked a bit queasy. He didn’t have time to protest, but cried out in sympathetic pain as Bucky dragged the blade along his forearm, keeping the cut shallow. “Sorry. I know this is gross, but they won’t believe me otherwise.”

“I know.”

Tony still looked unhappy as he watched Bucky smear and splatter blood around the cuffs of his jacket sleeves, then flick some up onto his own face. Once he had enough, he let Tony wrap the arm up, then shrugged himself back into his jacket. “It’ll have to do.”

They stared at each other a moment, Tony taller now that he was in the armor. “If this doesn’t work—”

“We’ll make it work,” Bucky insisted, not sure where his newfound optimism was coming from. “Together.”

“End of the line,” Tony agreed, carefully brushing his lips against Bucky’s own. He managed to avoid getting any of the blood on himself. “I guess it’s now or never.”

“Call Fury. I’ll signal Hawkeye.”

But neither of them were moving. “Please don’t get hurt,” Tony blurted. The vulnerability in his eyes made him look younger somehow. “And if it looks like S.H.I.E.L.D. is going to change their mind about you, don’t run without me. Promise?”

“I promise.”

This time when Tony nodded, there was a difference in his eyes, the doubts and fears shoved aside, along with the mirth. “Let’s go be heroes.”

* * *

  1. I don’t understand. ↑




	19. Chapter 19

“I can’t believe Fury agreed to this. I hope you realize how insane your stupid plan is.”

Despite his choice in words, Hawkeye seemed genuinely concerned for his safety, which was surprisingly comforting. Bucky had always respected Clint, even with his tendency to run on at the mouth. The guy was good at what he did, which mattered more than anything else. And while he might normally have tried to talk them out of the so-called stupid plan, he’d been on board once they’d tried and failed to get in touch with Coulson.

The only positive so far was that when he checked, Tony found the SI data dumps had been successfully transferred via ARPANet. What had happened to Coulson, Pepper, and the other agents after that part of the mission was completed was still the big unknown quantity.

“He’s not dead, I can tell you that much.” Clint sounded sure enough for all of them. “Don’t be surprised if your earpiece craps out on you. These things aren’t so good when you’re underground. Building materials are also an issue most of the time. Hey Stark, maybe you could get to work on that instead of molesting our agents?”

Tony flipped him off. “I’ll stick it at the top of my list for after we save the day. For now, we’ll just have to make do. You getting us?”

Bucky re-checked the mic and earpiece, wishing they were a little less conspicuous. He’d just have to hope Stane didn’t pat him down, or look into his left ear. Tony had balked at the idea of him going in without it when he’d made the suggestion. He supposed he could always ditch them in a pinch.

“I hear you. Everything good on your end?"

“Yeah, yeah, you’re loud and clear,” Clint grumbled. "Try not to get yourself killed."

"Roger that."

“Glad you’re not stuck as a mindless killing machine.” Clint pulled him into a rough hug, complete with backslap. “Go get ‘em, tiger,” he said before stepping aside, presumably to give him and Tony a little privacy.

“Here goes nothing.”

“It’s going to be fine. I’m a genius, remember?”

Tony held his gaze, and Bucky managed to dig up a smile from somewhere. “Thank you.”

“For what? Dragging you into the insanity that passes for my life?” Tony’s smile was tight, and uncomfortable. “No problem. Happy to oblige.”

“You know what I mean,” Bucky insisted.

“Yeah, I know.” Tony nodded, looked a little like he wanted to slam down the armor’s faceplate in order to hide what he was feeling. “Come back in one piece, or I’m gonna be mad at you for the rest of my life.”

Bucky helped himself to one last kiss, then slid behind the wheel of Tony’s car and sped off toward SI, trusting them to follow. As much as he wanted to prolong the inevitable, there were lives on the line. Every minute wasted was potentially crucial.

Getting to SI was the easy part. He wasn’t sure where he was meant to deliver the package, and was having trouble not second guessing himself. What would the Soldier have done? Stand in the parking lot and await orders?

“On site,” he announced. “I see empty vehicles at my three, looks like standard S.H.I.E.L.D. transport.”

“They’re still there somewhere,” Tony murmured into his ear.

“Here’s hoping Phil doesn’t shoot you,” Clint felt the need to add. The worst part was, it was a very real possibility.

“Going silent.”

Taking a deep breath, he tried to sink himself into the mindset and memories he now had access to. Rather than waiting, he parked the car across multiple spots, got out without bothering to shut the door, and stalked into the building. The security guards stirred, and he hoped they wouldn’t make him shoot them.

“Sir. Stop where you are!”

He didn’t bother with formalities, simply uttered, “Obadiah Stane.”

One of the executive elevators was already sliding open, and Bucky assumed his less than subtle arrival had been the cause. “Gentlemen, you’ll have to excuse my associate. He’s had a long flight, and isn’t big on manners.”

Stane felt large in person, would be considered imposing. Bucky could easily picture the man towering over a much younger Tony, playing the role of father figure even as he plotted against the Stark heir. He supposed some people might back down when assessed by a man like Stane, but he simply stood his ground, unblinking, expressionless, feeling especially aware of the weight of his holstered weapon.

As if he’d passed some test, Stane made a soft, amused sound.

“Follow me,” he insisted. Once they were in the privacy of the elevator, the friendliness slipped away. “You know, Pierce told me you were good.” He studied Bucky’s profile, searching for something, perhaps taking note of the dried flecks of blood on his face. “So if that’s the case, what took so long?”

“The target was uncooperative.”

Stane snorted. “Yeah. I bet he was. Is the brat dead?”

Somewhere nearby, Tony would be listening, and Bucky ached for him. Knowing Stane was a monster was one thing, actually hearing the man he'd considered to be a father figure speak so cavalierly about having him killed was another. None of his sympathy made it into his voice, or onto his face, though.

“The target has been eliminated,” Bucky announced. He pulled the reactor from inside his jacket, handed it over.

The elevator shuddered to a halt while Stane held the reactor up to eye level, examined it closely. “What a masterpiece,” he sighed, smiling to himself. “You’re not in a position to appreciate what I’m saying, but this right here?” He shook the reactor in Bucky’s face. “This is Tony’s Ninth Symphony.”

The doors opened onto what Bucky could only assume was Sector 16. It looked like something straight out of a cheesy Science-Fiction movie, all mood lighting, and hanging chains. His eyes were immediately drawn to the shadowy outline of what looked to be a bulked up, inelegant version of Tony’s armor. It was hard to make out details in the semi darkness, but he was glad the reactor Stane had in his possession was sabotaged. Tony's armor had speed and precision, but it was all too easy to imagine Stane's behemoth squashing the other suit like a bug.

"I see you've taken an interest in my prototype. It's not as conservative as Tony's. Shame he never had a chance to see it."

Bucky hung back near the exit, suddenly on high alert. Every instinct he had told him they weren't alone; someone was nearby, likely watching them from the darkened perimeter.

Stane was still talking, enjoying the one sided conversation as he made his way to the armor, either oblivious or unconcerned. It was possible he'd kept security on the level to protect the suit, but Bucky's money was on S.H.I.E.L.D. If Pepper had uncovered the location of Sector 16 while hacking into the SI databases, it was highly unlikely that Coulson would leave without investigating.

"I'm going to build a new generation of weapons, with this at the heart," Stane announced, slotting the reactor into place.

Movement to his left. Bucky spun, only to have someone jump him from the right. They were fast, but he was faster, snatched them out of the air, spinning, using the momentum to hurl his opponent to the ground. Unfortunately, this didn't phase them in the least. As he watched, the figure spun in the air and landed on her feet, one perfect eyebrow arched in surprise.

"We have company," he snapped, feinting left and dropping low in an attempt to sweep his attacker's legs out from under her. She jumped, grabbing hold of his shoulders, and before he knew what was happening he was flat on his back.

"Take care of them," Stane ordered, clambering into the suit, unaware that Bucky hadn't been talking to him.

"What sort of company?" Tony asked.

"A redheaded ninja."

Bucky bent over almost backwards in order to avoid a kick to the face. The earpiece crackled to life, Hawkeye's voice coming in faintly through a layer of static. "Hey, Black Widow's back in town! Uh, try not to make her angry."

"Too late."

Bucky split his attention long enough to notice a handful of black suited S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were now swarming into the open, heading for Stane and the suit.

"Pepper?" Bucky called, grimacing as he blocked a flurry of blows. "Pepper, Tony sent me! If you're down here, get somewhere safe."

"Is she okay?" Tony sounded frantic in his ear.

There was a flash, and he only just managed to get his arm up as Widow came at him with some sort of device crackling with electricity. The shock hurt, but all the hungry, instinctual parts of him that belonged to the Soldier seemed to take the pain in stride, using it to fuel a counterattack.

He managed to snag her around the waist, slammed her down into the ground before kneeling on her chest. "We're on the same side," he managed before she had her legs around his neck, cutting off his supply of oxygen.

It wasn't precisely a fair fight. Bucky didn't want to _actually_ hurt her, but Widow wasn't exactly on the same page. He cried out as a knife found its way into his side. If he hadn't twisted at the last moment, it would have been a serious wound. He plucked the knife free, slamming it into the ground hard enough to break the blade.

Widow's eyes widened, the only visible reaction before she shook him off, and caught him in the jaw with one of her vicious kicks. Growling, he grabbed her by the ankle, managed to throw her again, not that it did much good. She landed on her feet like a cat.

Behind them, gunshots rang out, followed by the ungodly noise of the suit powering up.

"Clint, your friend doesn't play fair," Bucky managed, dodging another flurry of blows before jumping out of arm's reach.

Another shot rang out, this one whizzing past his head. Bucky spun, spotted Coulson, and frowned. "I'm part of the goddamned rescue mission," he shouted, taking off at a run.

"What's going on?" Tony shouted in his ear.

"Stane's powered up the suit. You might want to get down here. We're a couple floors below the reactor."

There was no reply on the radio, and Widow tackled him from behind before he could reach Coulson. Bucky hit the ground hard, grimacing at the sound of crunching; he’d landed on the surveillance equipment, and had no illusions about it continuing to work.

Bucky grabbed both of Widow’s hands in one of his own, popping out the earpiece with his free hand, holding it aloft. "I'm working with Hawkeye and Stark," he spat, tempted to just knock her out. The only response was a snort of disbelief, and an attempt to headbutt him.

She wasn't even out of breath, which was both frustrating and admirable. Meanwhile, Bucky was struggling to restrain himself, the Soldier like an insistent presence in the back of his mind, urging him to loosen up on his control, to fight back without restraint.

The sound of screaming got his attention. Bucky let go, then shoved Widow aside, and took off running, heading straight for the ruckus. Sure enough, Pepper was weaving her way across the room, attempting to get to the exit, even as Stane’s metal monstrosity roared to life, taking its first, terrible steps.

“Where do you think you're going?” Stane shouted.

Bucky had just enough time to shove Pepper out of the way before the suit’s fist smashed down where she’d just been. He tried his best to shield her as the momentum carried them forward, causing them to slam into a wall. Once he had his bearings again, Bucky tossed her over his shoulder and headed for the door at a run.

“What are you doing?”

Pepper’s fists smashed down against his back. “Does no one understand the concept of a rescue?” Bucky could feel her shaking against him, and regretted the outburst. “It’s okay, Tony’s outside, we just need to—”

Bucky jerked as another gunshot rang out, bullet slamming home in his thigh, causing him to drop to one knee. Pepper gave another little shriek, just managed to keep from being thrown to the ground.

“Stop shooting,” Pepper screamed. Miraculously, although the gunfire continued, it at least shifted, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents focusing on the robotic killing machine bearing down upon them. Stane’s laughter echoed through the room, distorted and robotic.

“Go, get outside, get safe,” Bucky insisted, pointing to the door before dragging himself back up onto his feet.

The bullet was still in his leg, but he didn’t have time to worry about it, just dug down deep, helped himself to more of the cold detachment at his disposal, and pulled out his own pistol to provide cover for Pepper as she made her escape.

“Interesting,” he heard, which was the only warning he had before the Black Widow kicked the gun out of his hand. Bucky prepared to face another onslaught, but to his surprise she actually focused her attention on Stane. “Whose idea was it to give the maniac the missing powersource?”

Before Bucky could answer, part of the wall behind them was blown inward, Tony flying through the cloud of dust, repulsors blasting Stane squarely in the center of the chest. “Surprise!”

He and Widow shared a look. “Never mind.”

“Tony sabotaged the reactor,” Bucky explained, eyes darting between Widow and the man in question. He didn’t seem to be having any issues avoiding Stane’s slower movements, although if they kept it up much longer there would definitely be structural issues with the building to worry about. Bucky didn’t particularly feel like being buried alive. “It had ten minutes, tops.”

“That’s ten too many,” Widow grumbled, taking off at a sprint.

Bucky watched her go, not feeling like he was in much of a position to argue. Tony had been concerned that Stane had taken Pepper somewhere, could have her locked up, possibly hurt and in need of medical attention. If the reactor didn’t work at all when he tested it, it would be obvious he had been played, and there went Bucky’s element of surprise. Knowing what he did, if that had been the case Bucky wouldn’t have put it past Stane to refuse to divulge Pepper’s location, content to let an innocent woman die if it meant hurting Tony.

“For 30 years, I've been holding you up!” Stane launched himself forward, smashing through one of the support pillars. Tony evaded, then headed back the way he’d entered, apparently intent upon leading Stane outside. “I built this company from nothing!”

The other agents had backed up, giving the men in the suits room to work out their differences, but now Coulson was motioning for them to evacuate. Bucky made a point of snatching up his firearm, then followed, providing cover for the retreating agents when Stane shifted his attentions and attempted to scoop a few of them up.

“Pick on someone your own size,” Tony suggested.

With a roar, Stane helped himself to a piece of equipment, hurling it at Tony. When he evaded, Stane surged forward, slamming into Tony, the two of them crashing through the hole in the wall. Bucky went to take off after them, but was stopped in his tracks by Widow and Coulson.

“We had a plan,” Coulson snapped, not lowering his pistol. “One that _didn’t_ involve handing the keys to a giant robotic killing machine over to a madman.”

Bucky held his hands aloft, the gun already tucked back in his holster. “Something came up, we couldn’t get ahold of you, and had to improvise.” The sounds of battle continued on nearby, although Bucky was almost certain Stane and Tony had managed to blast their way out of the building. Phil’s eyes remained narrowed, his suspicions clearly not assuaged. “Tony figured out that Alexander Pierce is Stane’s contact.”

To his surprise, Coulson reacted visibly, his eyes widening with what might be actual glee. “I _knew_ it!”

“And how did he managed to discover this?”

These people were literally going to be the death of him. “We’ll debrief all you want after. Fury’s been notified, he’s handling Pierce while we clean up here.”

As if to serve as punctuation, the ground shook beneath their feet, dust and plaster raining down upon them, as if something incredibly heavy had just slammed into the ground somewhere above them. “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not stick around to see if those two manage to bring the roof down on us.”

Widow gave the slightest head tilt of agreement. “He has a point.”

“I expect details to follow.”

The two agents took off running, leaving Bucky to follow after, grimacing. As far as injuries went, S.H.I.E.L.D. had caused more damage than Stane. He could feel the gunshot wound in his thigh already beginning to tingle with the eerie sensation that accompanied the rapid healing of his wounds, and wished for the time to dig the bullet free before things progressed too far.

By the time he got back outside, Tony was standing atop Stane’s armor, prying it open to retrieve the man inside. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had the area surrounded, and not just the ones they’d brought with them; obviously Fury had sent along reinforcements.

“We need him alive for questioning, Stark.”

The helmet swiveled, the glowing eyes pointing their direction, and Bucky had to suppress a shudder, remind himself that it was Tony behind the faceplate. He didn’t say anything, but was slightly less exuberant when he returned to the task at hand, ultimately prying the chest plate off with a sound that cut through Bucky’s head like a knife.

Before Tony could pull Stane free, Hawkeye was up on the armor, leaning half inside of it, jamming his hand into Stane’s mouth. “Sorry, just got word from Fury.” Clint worried at his lower lip, head raised, eyes looking up as if he was trying to visualize something as he fished around in Stane’s mouth. “Gotcha!” A moment later, he held a tooth aloft, grinning proudly. “Poison tooth. Pierce had one. Fury couldn’t get to him in time.”

Somewhere nearby, Coulson hissed his displeasure, then followed it up with, “Damn it.”

Bucky was willing to bet Phil would find a way to take his disappointment out on Stane, but it was a small consolation. Stane would certainly have some intel to extract, but the wealth of information that had been lost with Pierce’s suicide was invaluable. Who knew how many agents were out there operating in the field, unknowing that someone high up in the government had blown their cover? Had their defense plans been handed over to the enemy? The only safe way forward was to assume _everything_ had been compromised.

“Why do I get the feeling we’ve got our work cut out for us?” Widow held his gaze for a long moment, long enough to let Bucky know he’d been included in that ‘we’ she’d used. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Stane was unconscious, but seemed to be breathing on his own, no serious injuries apparent when they lifted him out of the armor. Bucky had to fight the urge to unholster his weapon and put a bullet in Stane’s head, but managed to keep it together. Just the thought of him potentially getting free and attempting to hurt Tony was enough to have him grinding his teeth.

Bucky watched as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents swarmed around Stane, handcuffs and a hood in place in the blink of an eye before they loaded him into one of the cars. The remaining agents got to work on the armor, not bothering to hide their interest in Tony’s admittedly flashier suit now that they were no longer being shot at.

As if unable to help himself, Tony struck a pose before strutting over to where Bucky and the Black Widow were standing. “Did you see that?” he asked, faceplate snapping open to reveal a wide, toothy grin. “How amazing am I?”

“I’d go with menace,” Widow answered, clearly not impressed in the slightest.

Tony pouted over her reaction, until he actually took a moment to look at Bucky. “Who the hell shot my boyfriend?”

“That would be me,” Coulson answered. “Be happy I only went for the leg.”

“Warned you the plan was stupid,” Hawkeye felt the need to add. “Hey, Natasha. When’d you get back in town?”

“Cut the chatter. I feel like you have a lot to explain, Stark.”

“Yeah, well, that can wait. Let’s focus on the bigger issue at hand. Pierce was working with the Soviets; who knows how compromised we are.”

It was obvious that Coulson disliked being brushed off, but it was hard to argue with Tony’s point. Before he could answer, another voice cut through the tension. “You don’t know the half of it, Stark.”

Nick Fury strode up, his eye narrowed, and every last inch of him broadcasting his displeasure with the turn of events. “Our friend had some parting words before taking the easy way out. Two in fact: Hail Hydra.”


	20. Chapter 20

Bucky blinked his eyes open, squinting into the sunlight streaming through the bedroom window. Tony was half draped on top of him, as if he’d been worried Bucky might try to take off in the middle of the night. Whatever the reason, it felt wonderful having all that naked Tony pressed against him, even if it was making him overheat.

He felt rested for the first time in a long time. The first few days back in the mansion hadn’t exactly been relaxing, but spending his nights down in the workshop with Tony instead of sleeping was still better than any shuteye he’d managed to get on the cot that passed for a bed in the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility.

Tony shifted, making a soft, wounded sound in his sleep. Bucky smoothed the hair back from his forehead, placed a kiss there, wrapping him up a little tighter.

After days of pretending everything was fine, Tony had finally run himself ragged enough that he really had no choice but to let himself fall to pieces, even if only for an hour or so. It was okay, because Bucky was there to hold him through the worst of it, reassure him, remind him that he wasn’t in it alone anymore.

Some of it was the reality of Stane’s betrayal, and the fact that it could never come to light, finally settling into place. Tony had had to participate in a  press conference announcing Obadiah Stane—beloved mentor, father figure, and partner—had died tragically in a small aircraft crash when returning from vacation.

“Iron Man” was part of it as well. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents witnessing the armor in action had come up with the nickname, and despite grumbling about it not actually being made from iron, Tony had sort of taken a liking to the name.

“It's kind of evocative, the imagery, anyway.”

Rather than attempting to confiscate the armor, Fury wanted Tony using it in an official capacity. As far as he was concerned, Iron Man was the one advantage they had over Hydra and the Soviets. Pierce hadn’t known enough to share the details, Stane apparently keeping his cards close to his chest in a power play that ultimately worked to their advantage.

Unsurprisingly, Tony had used this as leverage on Bucky’s behalf once they had no choice but to explain how, exactly, they’d uncovered Pierce’s involvement. He’d expected to be arrested, disappeared, experimented upon further. Instead, despite Fury’s reticence, Coulson had backed Tony up and suggested that out of all of them, Bucky had the most motivation for bringing down Hydra, as they’d ultimately been the ones responsible for his reprogramming.

He’d been grabbed by the KGB, but at some point when he was in Moscow, one of Hydra’s well placed agents had seen him as an opportunity to try out some of their more unethical experiments. Once in Siberia, it was likely that everyone involved in the project had been secretly working for Hydra. To them it wouldn’t matter if the Soviets kept him and put him to use there, or arranged for him to return to America. Either way, they were in a position to use him as they wished.

It was beginning to look like Hydra had agents _everywhere,_ and it wasn’t just paranoia to think they could easily be arranging to pit the two superpowers against each other in order to bring about their so called New World Order.

As a result, Bucky found himself torn. He’d thought he wanted to be done with it all—the secrets, the violence, the danger—but at the same time, knowing what he knew made it tough to walk away. And even if he did, Tony _shouldn’t_ , and the idea of him going off on missions while Bucky stayed behind was far from appealing.

He hadn’t realized he’d come to a decision until he opened his mouth, heard himself saying, “I want to help.”

“Good, because we need all the help we can get.” Fury managed to convey a lot with a look, and Bucky found himself bracing for impact. “Outside of this room, there’s no one I trust with what we’ve uncovered, and the jury’s still out on you, Barnes. Put my mind at ease.”

“Hey, wait, what exactly do you have in mind?” Tony was already out of his seat, looking like he might go get the armor and start making his displeasure felt.

Bucky put a hand on his arm. “It’s okay. They need to make sure.”

“We’ll give him back,” Fury said, spreading his hands wide, a magnanimous smile on his face.

“Buck, you don’t need to—”

“Yeah. I do. Tony… this is… this is bigger than us. Fury’s not exaggerating. There aren’t a lot of people we can trust. I can’t just stand by and let them win.”

“Spoken like a true patriot.” Fury clapped his hands together, and that was that. “I’ll give you a minute to say your goodbyes.”

Tony looked angry enough to begin throwing things, but as soon as they were alone, his resolve cracked, the worry spilling out over his handsome features. “Right. I’ll give them a couple days, but then I’m busting you out.”

“It’ll be okay,” Bucky assured him, although he didn’t quite believe the words himself. He’d made his decision, though, and wasn’t going to back down. “While I’m putting Fury’s mind at ease, I need you to get in touch with Steve Rogers. I know without a doubt that he and Peggy can be trusted, and I guarantee Hydra has agents in the FBI.”

Tony nodded, chewing on his lower lip before all but hurling himself at Bucky, wrapping him up in a hug tight enough to hurt his ribs. Bucky sighed, squeezed his eyes shut, breathed in the scent of Tony before kissing him. That went on perhaps longer than it should have, the two of them swaying together, lips brushing again and again, until someone rapped on the door.

“No funny business you two.”

Bucky smiled, rested his forehead against Tony’s. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Definitely. I’ll talk to Phil, we’ll track down Steve.” Tony pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I hate this, by the way. It feels like I’m never going to see you again.”

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

“End of the line, right?”

Tony’s eyes were wide, vulnerable, and Bucky felt a wave of love and adoration wash over him. “End of the line. I love you, Tony.”

“I know.” Bucky must have had a funny look on his face, because Tony hung his head, then grinned sheepishly. “Right, sorry, you were still in Russia when _The Empire Strikes Back_ came out. I swear, that’ll make sense one day.”

The look on Tony’s face when Bucky looked over his shoulder was almost enough to make him run back, but instead he nodded, then let himself be taken into custody.

Poked, prodded, provoked. But ultimately, he’d passed every test, proved himself, and was able to return to Tony. Being an agent felt different this time around. Something he’d chosen, as opposed to the only choice he’d had.

But Tony had acted strangely distant when Bucky had returned, as if the time apart had been more torturous for him than it had been for Bucky. And that was the other reason behind Tony’s eventual breakdown. The thought of losing _him_ , of all people.

So Bucky had reassured him as best he could that he wasn’t going anywhere, and that it was far better to fight knowing they were doing it together.

“Still think we should go find a deserted island somewhere,” Tony had suggested halfheartedly.

“You’d be bored in an hour.”

“We’ll both be careful,” Tony said, curled up around Bucky. “I know that sounds crazy, because we’re basically going to be spending a lot of time together getting shot at, but still. I think… I need this. To… to make up for how I was. Before.”

Bucky knew better than to argue. “That makes two of us.”

And Tony had pulled him into a kiss at that, the sort that left him breathless with wonder. Feeling as if they were saying goodbye to their old lives, Bucky allowed Tony to lead him upstairs, tumble him into bed.

His leg had healed, but he had a new scar, one Tony traced with his fingers, then his tongue, before moving on to more interesting parts of Bucky’s anatomy. They’d taken their time with each other, taken advantage of being in a bed instead of on a couch, and Bucky had felt a little bit like a lovesick fool for finally thinking, “I’m home,” once he rocked his way into Tony’s body. He wasn’t alone, though, Tony holding onto him for dear life, chanting _I love you_ and _I missed you_ , when he wasn’t moaning Bucky’s name.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Tony grumbled. He rolled onto his side, then looked over his shoulder expectantly, murmuring his satisfaction when Bucky got with the program and curled up behind him. “Go back to sleep. Steve and Peggy will be here tomorrow, and you know Fury will have something planned.”

“Sure you don’t mind them staying here?”

“Are you kidding me? I need to meet the guy stupid enough to pass up a chance at you.”

Bucky gave Tony a squeeze, nuzzled his neck. “He never knew how I felt, idiot. Don’t say anything, either.”

“Like I’m going to say anything. You’re all mine. He can’t have you.”

“Yes, Tony.”

“Go back to sleep. S’an order.”

Bucky hid his smile in Tony’s hair, let his eyes drift shut again. Somehow, he had a home again, was whole again, learning to be appreciative of even the darkest parts of himself. He had Tony, and that was all he needed. All he wanted. It was strange to find himself almost grateful for what had happened to him. Без муки нет науки[21]. Without those experiences, he would never have met Tony, wouldn’t have interested him, or have been in a position to protect him. Tony Stark would have been only a name he associated with sex scandals, shiny new toys, and weapons manufacturing.

The body in his arms shifted, pushing back against him, prompting him to wrap himself tightly around Tony, his eyes slowly drifting closed. Maybe he was foolish to be hopeful, to think they would make it through any of what awaited them, but for the first time since shipping out, Bucky felt like himself.

“To having everything,” he whispered, finally letting sleep have its way with him again, knowing that when he woke up, Tony would be there beside him.

* * *

  1. Without torture, no science. Which equates to “Adversity is a good teacher.” ↑



**Author's Note:**

> My wonderful, talented [imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com ](http://imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com/) cohorts are the best. They cheered me on, and slogged through this thing helping with typos, and so a round of applause to all of them for being THE BEST.


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